DICKENS. 


THE  ADVENTURES 


OF 


BY 


CHARLES   DICKENS. 


WITH    TWENTY-EIGHT  ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  J.   MAHONEY. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &     BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
1872. 


PREFACE. 


ONCE  upon  a  time  it  was  held  to  be  a  coarse  and  shocking  circumstance,  that  some  of  the  characters 
in  these  pages  are  chosen  from  the  most  criminal  and  degraded  of  London's  population. 

As  I  saw  no  reason,  when  I  wrote  this  book,  why  the  dregs  of  life  (so  long  as  their  speech  did  not 
offend  the  ear)  should  not  serve  the  purpose  of  a  moral,  as  well  as  its  froth  and  cream,  I  made  bold  to 
believe  that  this  same  Once  upon  a  time  would  not  prove  to  be  All-time  or  even  a  long  time.  I  saw 
many  strong  reasons  for  pursuing  my  course.  I  had  read  of  thieves  by  scores ;  seductive  fellows  (amia 
ble  for  the  most  part),  faultless  in  dress,  plump  in  pocket,  choice  in  horse-flesh,  bold  in  bearing,  fortunate 
in  gallantry,  great  at  a  song,  a  bottle,  pack  of  cards  or  dice-box,  and  fit  companions  for  the  bravest.  But 
I  had  never  met  (except  in  HOGARTH)  with  the  miserable  reality.  It  appeared  to  me  that  to  draw  a 
knot  of  such  associates  in  crime  as  really  did  exist ;  to  paint  them  in  all  their  deformity,  in  all  their 
wretchedness,  in  all  the  squalid  misery  of  their  lives ;  to  show  them  as  they  really  were,  forever  skulking 
uneasily  through  the  dirtiest  paths  of  life,  with  the  great  black  ghastly  gallows  closing  up  their  prospect, 
turn  them  where  they  might ;  it  appeared  to  me  that  to  do  this  would  be  to  attempt  a  something  which 
was  needed,  and  which  would  be  a  service  to  society.  And  I  did  it  as  I  best  could. 

In  every  book  I  know,  where  such  characters  are  treated  of,  allurements  and  fascinations  are  thrown 
around  them.  Even  in  the  Beggars'  Opera,  the  thieves  are  represented  as  leading  a  life  which  is  rather 
to  be  envied  than  otherwise :  while  MACHEATH,  with  all  the  captivations  of  command,  and  the  devotion 
of  the  most  beautiful  girl  and  only  pure  character  in  the  piece,  is  as  much  to  be  admired  and  emulated 
by  weak  beholders,  as  any  fine  gentleman  in  a  red  coat  who  has  purchased,  as  VOLTAIRE  says,  the  right 
to  command  a  couple  of  thousand  men,  or  so,  and  to  affront  death  at  their  head.  Johnson's  question, 
whether  any  man  will  turn  thief  because  Macheath  is  reprieved,  seems  to  me  beside  the  matter.  I  ask 
myself,  whether  any  man  will  be  deterred  from  turning  thief  because  of  Macheath's  being  sentenced  to 
death,  and  because  of  the  existence  of  Peachum  and  Lockit ;  and  remembering  the  captain's  roaring  life, 
great  appearance,  vast  success,  and  strong  advantages,  I  feel  assured  that  nobody  having  a  bent  that  way 
will  take  any  warning  from  him,  or  will  see  any  thing  in  the  play  but  a  flowery  and  pleasant  road,  con 
ducting  an  honorable  ambition — in  course  of  time — to  Tyburn  Tree. 

In  fact,  Gay's  witty  satire  on  society  had  a  general  object,  which  made  him  quite  regardless  of  example 
in  this  respect,  and  gave  him  other  and  wider  aims.  The  same  may  be  said  of  Sir  Edward  Bulwer's 
admirable  and  powerful  novel  of  Paul  Clifford,  which  can  not  be  fairly  considered  as  having,  or  as  being 
intended  to  have,  any  bearing  on  this  part  of  the  subject,  one  way  or  other. 

What  manner  of  life  is  that  which  is  described  in  these  pages,  as  the  every-day  existence  of  a  Thief? 
What  charms  has  it  for  the  young  and  ill-disposed,  what  allurements  for  the  most  jolter-headed  of  juve 
niles  ?  Here  are  no  canterings  on  moonlit  heaths,  no  merry-makings  in  the  snuggest  of  all  possible  cav 
erns,  none  of  the  attractions  of  dress,  no  embroidery,  no  lace,  no  jack-boots,  no  crimson  coats  and  ruffles, 
none  of  the  dash  and  freedom  with  which  "  the  road "  has  been  time  out  of  mind  invested.  The  cold, 
wet,  shelterless  midnight  streets  of  London ;  the  foul  and  frowzy  dens,  where  vice  is  closely  packed  and 
lacks  the  room  to  turn ;  the  haunts  of  hunger  and  disease ;  the  shabby  rags  that  scarcely  hold  together ; 
where  are  the  attractions  of  these  things  ? 

There  are  people,  however,  of  so  refined  and  delicate  a  nature,  that  they  can  not  bear  the  contemplation 
of  such  horrors.  Not  that  they  turn  instinctively  from  crime ;  but  that  criminal  characters,  to  suit  them, 
must  be,  like  their  meat,  in  delicate  disguise.  A  Massaroni  in  green  velvet  is  an  enchanting  creature ; 


8  PREFACE. 

but  a  Sikes  in  fustian  is  insupportable.  A  Mrs.  Massaroni,  being  a  lady  in  short  petticoats  and  a  fancy 
dress,  is  a  thing  to  imitate  in  tableaux  and  have  in  lithograph  on  pretty  songs ;  but  a  Nancy,  being  a 
creature  in  a  cotton  gown  and  cheap  shawl,  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  is  wonderful  how  Virtue  turns 
from  dirty  stockings ;  and  how  Vice,  married  to  ribbons  and  a  little  gay  attire,  changes  her  name,  as 
wedded  ladies  do,  and  becomes  Romance. 

But  as  the  stern  truth,  even  in  the  dress  of  this  (in  novels)  much  exalted  race,  was  a  part  of  the  purpose 
of  this  book,  I  did  not,  for  these  readers,  abate  one  hole  in  the  Dodger's  coat,  or  one  scrap  of  curl-paper 
in  Nancy's  disheveled  hair.  I  had  no  faith  in  the  delicacy  which  could  not  bear  to  look  upon  them.  I 
had  no  desire  to  make  proselytes  among  such  people.  I  had  no  respect  for  their  opinion,  good  or  bad ; 
did  not  covet  their  approval ;  and  did  not  write  for  their  amusement. 

It  has  been  observed  of  Nancy  that  her  devotion  to  the  brutal  house-breaker  does  not  seem  natural. 
And  it  has  been  objected  to  Sikes  in  the  same  breath — with  some  inconsistency,  as  I  venture  to  think — 
that  he  is  surely  overdrawn,  because  in  him  there  would  appear  to  be  none  of  those  redeeming  traits 
which  are  objected  to  as  unnatural  in  his  mistress.  Of  the  latter  objection  I  will  merely  remark,  that  I 
fear  there  are  in  the  world  some  insensible  and  callous  natures,  that  do  become  utterly  and  incurably  bad. 
Whether  this  be  so  or  not,  of  one  thing  I  am  certain :  that  there  are  such  men  as  Sikes,  who,  being  closely 
followed  through  the  same  space  of  time  and  through  the  same  current  of  circumstances,  would  not  give, 
by  the  action  of  a  moment,  the  faintest  indication  of  a  better  nature.  Whether  every  gentler  human 
feeling  is  dead  within  such  bosoms,  or  the  proper  chord  to  strike  has  rusted  and  is  hard  to  find,  I  do  not 
pretend  to  know ;  but  that  the  fact  is  as  I  state  it,  I  am  sure. 

It  is  useless  to  discuss  whether  the  conduct  and  character  of  the  girl  seems  natural  or  unnatural,  prob 
able  or  improbable,  right  or  wrong.  IT  is  TRUE.  Every  man  who  has  watched  these  melancholy  shades 
of  life,  must  know  it  to  be  so.  From  the  first  introduction  of  that  poor  wretch,  to  her  laying  her  blood 
stained  head  upon  the  robber's  breast,  there  is  not  a  word  exaggerated  or  overwrought.  It  is  emphat 
ically  God's  truth,  for  it  is  the  truth  He  leaves  in  such  depraved  and  miserable  breasts ;  the  hope  yet 
lingering  there ;  the  last  fair  drop  of  water  at  the  bottom  of  the  weed-choked  well.  It  involves  the  best 
and  worst  shades  of  our  nature ;  much  of  its  ugliest  hues,  and  something  of  its  most  beautiful ;  it  is  a 
contradiction,  an  anomaly,  an  apparent  impossibility ;  but  it  is  a  truth.  I  am  glad  to  have  had  it  doubt 
ed,  for  in  that  circumstance  I  should  find  a  sufficient  assurance  (if  I  wanted  any)  that  it  needed  to  be  told. 

In  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  fifty,  it  was  publicly  declared  in  London  by  an  amazing 
Alderman,  that  Jacob's  Island  did  not  exist,  and  never  had  existed.  Jacob's  Island  continues  to  exist 
(like  an  ill-bred  place  as  it  is)  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  sixty-seven,  though  improved 
and  much  changed. 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TREATS   OF  THE  PLACE  WHERE  OLIVER  TWIST  WAS  BORN, 
AND   OF   THE   CIRCUMSTANCES  ATTENDING  HIS   BIRTH. 

4  MONO  other  public  buildings  in  a  certain  town, 
X\_  which  for  many  reasons  it  will  be  prudent  to 
refrain  from  mentioning,  and  to  which  I  will  assign 
no  fictitious  name,  there  is  one  anciently  common  to 
most  towns,  great  or  small :  to  wit,  a  work-house ; 
and  in  this  work-house  was  born — on  a  day  and  date 
which  I  need  not  trouble  myself  to  repeat,  inasmuch 
as  it  can  be  of  no  possible  consequence  .to  the  reader, 
in  this  stage  of  the  business  at  all  events — the  item 
of  mortality  whose  name  is  prefixed  to  the  head  of 
this  chapter. 

For  a  long  time  after  it  was  ushered  into  this 
world  of  sorrow  and  trouble,  by  the  parish  surgeon, 
it  remained  a  matter  of  considerable  doubt  whether 
the  child  would  survive  to  bear  any  name  at  all ;  in 
which  case  it  is  somewhat  more  than  probable  that 
these  memoirs  would  never  have  appeared ;  or,  if 


they  had,  that  being  comprised  within  a  couple  of 
pages,  they  would  have  possessed  the  inestimable 
merit  of  being  the  most  concise  and  faithful  speci 
men  of  biography  extant  in  the  literature  of  any  age 
or  country. 

Although  I  am  not  disposed  to  maintain  that  the 
being  born  in  a  work-house,  is  in  itself  the  most  for 
tunate  and  enviable  circumstance  that  can  possibly 
befall  a  human  being,  I  do  mean  to  say  that  in  this 
particular  instance,  it  was  the  best  thing  for  Ol 
iver  Twist  that  could  by  possibility  have  occurred. 
The  fact  is,  that  there  was  considerable  difficulty  in 
inducing  Oliver  to  take  upon  himself  the  office  of 
respiration, — a  troublesome  practice,  but  one  which 
custom  has  rendered  necessary  to  our  easy  existence ; 
and  for  some  time  he  lay  gasping  on  a  little  flock 
mattress,  rather  unequally  poised  between  this  world 
and  the  next :  the  balance  being  decidedly  in  favor 
of  the  latter.  Now,  if,  during  this  brief  period,  Ol 
iver  had  been  surrounded  by  careful  grandmothers, 
anxious  aunts,  experienced  nurses,  and  doctors  of 


10 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


profound  wisdom,  he  would  most  inevitably  and  in 
dubitably  have  been  killed  in  no  time.  There  being 
nobody  by,  however,  but  a  pauper  old  woman,  who 
was  rendered  rather  misty  by  an  unwonted  allow 
ance  of  beer;  and  a  parish  surgeon  who  did  such 
matters  by  contract ;  Oliver  and  Nature  fought  out 
the  point  between  them.  The  result  was,  that,  after 
a  few  struggles,  Oliver  breathed,  sneezed,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  advertise  to  the  inmates  of  the  work-house 
the  fact  of  a  new  burden  having  been  imposed  upon 
the  parish,  by  setting  up  as  loud  a  cry  as  could  rea 
sonably  have  been  expected  from  a  male  infant  who 
had  not  been  possessed  of  that  very  useful  append 
age,  a  voice,  for  a  much  longer  space  of  time  than 
three  minutes  and  a  quarter. 

As  Oliver  gave  this  first  proof  of  the  free  and 
proper  action  of  his  lungs,  the  patchwork  coverlet 
which  was  carelessly  flung  over  the  iron  bedstead, 
rustled ;  the  pale  face  of  a  young  woman  was  raised 
feebly  from  the  pillow ;  and  a  faint  voice  imperfect 
ly  articulated  the  words,  "  Let  me  see  the  child,  and 
die." 

The  surgeon  had  been  sitting  with  his  face  turned 
toward  the  fire:  giving  the  palms  of  his  hands  a 
warm  and  a  rub  alternately.  As  the  young  woman 
spoke,  he  rose,  and  advancing  to  the  bed's  head,  said, 
with  more  kindness  than  might  have  been  expected 
of  him : 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  talk  about  dying  yet." 

"Lor  bless  her  dear  heart,  no!"  interposed  the 
nurse,  hastily  depositing  in  her  pocket  a  green  glass 
bottle,  the  contents  of  which  she  had  been  tasting  in 
a  corner  with  evident  satisfaction.  "  Lor  bless  her 
dear  heart,  when  she  has  lived  as  long  as  I  have,  sir, 
and  had  thirteen  children  of  her  own,  and  all  on  'em 
dead  except  two,  and  them  in  the  wurkus  with  me, 
she'll  know  better  than  to  take  on  in  that  way,  bless 
her  dear  heart !  Think  what  it  is  to  be  a  mother, 
there's  a  dear  young  lamb,  do." 

Apparently  this  consolatory  perspective  of  a  moth 
er's  prospects  failed  in  producing  its  due  effect.  The 
patient  shook  her  head,  and  stretched  out  her  hand 
toward  the  child. 

The  surgeon  deposited  it  in  her  arms.  She  im 
printed  her  cold  white  lips  passionately  on  its  fore 
head  ;  passed  her  hands  over  her  face ;  gazed  wild 
ly  round;  shuddered;  fell  back  —  and  died.  They 
chafed  her  breast,  hands,  and  temples ;  but  the  blood 
had  stopped  forever.  They  talked  of  hope  and  com 
fort.  They  had  been  strangers  too  long. 

"  It's  all  over,  Mrs.  Thingummy !"  said  the  surgeon 
at  last. 

"  Ah,  poor  dear,  so  it  is !"  said  the  nurse,  picking 
up  the  cork  of  the  green  bottle,  which  had  fallen  out 
on  the  pillow,  as  she  stooped  to  take  up  the  child. 
"Poor  dear!" 

"  You  needn't  mind  sending  up  to  me,  if  the  child 
cries,  nurse,"  said  the  surgeon,  putting  on  his  gloves 
with  great  deliberation.  "  It's  very  likely  it  will  be 
troublesome.  Give  it  a  little  gruel  if  it  is."  He  put 
on  his  hat,  and,  pausing  by  the  bedside  on  his  way 
to  the  door,  added,  "  She  was  a  good-looking  girl, 
too ;  where  did  she  come  from  ?" 

"  She  was  brought  here  last  night,"  replied  the  old 
woman,  "by  the  overseer's  order.  She  was  found 
lying  in  the  street.  She  had  walked  some  distance, 


for  her  shoes  were  worn  to  pieces ;  but  where  she 
came  from,  or  where  she  was  going  to,  nobody 
knows." 

The  surgeon  leaned  over  the  body,  and  raised  the 
left  hand.  "  The  old  story,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head :  "  no  wedding-ring,  I  see.  Ah !  Good-night !" 

The  medical  gentleman  walked  away  to  dinner; 
and  the  nurse,  having  once  more  applied  herself  to 
the  green  bottle,  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  before  the 
fire,  and  proceeded  to  dress  the  infant. 

What  an  excellent  example  of  the  power  of  dress, 
young  Oliver  Twist  was !  Wrapped  in  the  blanket 
which  had  hitherto  formed  his  only  covering,  he 
might  have  been  the  child  of  a  nobleman  or  a  beg 
gar;  it  would  have  been  hard  for  the  haughtiest 
stranger  to  have  assigned  him  his  proper  station  in 
society.  But  now  that  he  was  enveloped  in  the  old 
calico  robes  which  had  grown  yellow  in  the  same 
service,  he  was  badged  and  ticketed,  and  fell  into  his 
place  at  once — a  parish  child — the  orphan  of  a  work 
house — the  humble,  half-starved  drudge — to  be  cuft- 
cd  and  buffeted  through  the  world — despised  by  all, 
and  pitied  by  none. 

Oliver  cried  lustily.  If  he  could  have  known  that 
ho  \vns  an  orphan,  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  church 
wardens  and  overseers,  perhaps  he  would  have  cried 
the  louder. 


CHAPTER  II. 

TREATS   OF   OLIVER    TWIST'S    GROWTH,   EDUCATION,    AND 
BOARD. 

FOR  the  next  eight  or  ten  months,  Oliver  was  the 
victim  of  a  systematic  course  of  treachery  and 
deception.  He  was  brought  up  by  hand.  The  hun 
gry  and  destitute  situation  of  the  infant  orphan  was 
duly  reported  by  the  work-house  authorities  to  the 
parish  authorities.  The  parish  authorities  inquired 
with  dignity  of  the  work-house  authorities  whether 
there  was  no  female  then  domiciled  "  in  the  house  " 
who  was  in  a  situation  to  impart  to  Oliver  Twist  the 
consolation  and  nourishment  of  which  he  stood  in 
need.  The  work-house  authorities  replied  with  hu 
mility,  that  there  was  not.  Upon  this,  the  parish  au 
thorities  magnanimously  and  humanely  resolved  that 
Oliver  should  be  "  farmed,"  or,  in  other  words,  that 
he  should  be  dispatched  to  a  branch  work-house  some 
three  miles  off,  where  twenty  or  thirty  other  juvenile 
offenders  against  the  poor-laws,  rolled  about  the  floor 
all  day,  without  the  inconvenience  of  too  much  food 
or  too  much  clothing,  under  the  parental  superin 
tendence  of  an  elderly  female,  who  received  the  cul 
prits  at  and  for  the  consideration  of  sevenpence-half- 
penny  per  small  head  per  week.  Sevenpence-half- 
penny's  worth  per  week  is  a  good  round  diet  for  a 
child ;  a  great  deal  may  be  got  for  sevenpence-half- 
penny,  quite  enough  to  overload  its  stomach,  and 
make  it  uncomfortable.  The  elderly  female  was  a 
woman  of  wisdom  and  experience ;  she  knew  what 
was  good  for  children ;  and  she  had  a  very  accurate 
perception  of  what  was  good  for  herself.  So  she  ap 
propriated  the  greater  part  of  the  weekly  stipend  to 
her  own  use,  and  consigned  the  rising  parochial  gen 
eration  to  even  a  shorter  allowance  than  was  orig 
inally  provided  for  them.  Thereby  finding  in  the 


STARVATION  OF  THE  HERO. 


11 


lowest  depth  a  deeper  still ;  and  proving  herself  a 
very  great  experimental  philosopher. 

Every  body  knows  the  story  of  another  experi 
mental  philosopher  who  had  a  great  theory  about  a 
horse  being  able  to  live  without  eating,  and  who 
demonstrated  it  so  well,  that  he  'got  his  own  horse 
down  to  a  straw  a  day,  and  would  unquestionably 
have  rendered  him  a  very  spirited  and  rampacious 
animal  on  nothing  at  all,  if  he  had  not  died,  four- 
and-twenty  hours  before  he  was  to  have  had  his  first 
comfortable  bait  of  air.  Unfortunately  for  the  ex 
perimental  philosophy  of  the  female  to  whose  pro 
tecting  care  Oliver  Twist  was  delivered  over,  a  sim 
ilar  result  usually  attended  the  operation  of  her  sys 
tem  ;  for  at  the  very  moment  when  a  child  had  con 
trived  to  exist  upon  the  smallest  possible  portion  of 
the  weakest  possible  food,  it  did  perversely  happen 
in  eight  and  a  half  cases  out  of  ten,  either  that  it 
sickened  from  want  or  cold,  or  fell  into  the  fire  from 
neglect,  or  got  half-smothered  by  accident;  in  any 
one  of  which  cases,  the  miserable  little  being  was 
usually  summoned  into  another  world,  and  there 
gathered  to  the  fathers  it  had  never  known  in  this. 

Occasionally,  when  there  was  some  more  than 
usually  interesting  inquest  upon  a  parish  child,  who 
had  been  overlooked  in  turning  up  a  bedstead,  or  in 
advertently  scalded  to  death  when  there  happened 
to  be  a  washing  —  though  the  latter  accident  was 
very  scarce,  any  thing  approaching  to  a  washing  be 
ing  of  rare  occurrence  in  the  farm — the  jury  would 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  ask  troublesome  ques 
tions,  or  the  parishioners  would  rebelliously  affix 
their  signatures  to  a  remonstrance.  But  these  im 
pertinences  were  speedily  checked  by  the  evidence 
of  the  surgeon,  and  the  testimony  of  the  beadle ;  the 
former  of  whom  had  always  opened  the  body  and 
found  nothing  inside  (which  was  very  probable  in 
deed),  and  the  latter  of  whom  invariably  swore  what 
ever  the  parish  wanted ;  which  was  very  self-devo 
tional.  Besides,  the  board  made  periodical  pilgrim 
ages  to  the  farm,  and  always  sent  the  beadle  the  day 
before,  to  say  they  were  going.  The  children  were 
neat  and  clean  to  behold  when  they  went ;  and  what 
more  would  the  people  have ! 

It  can  not  be  expected  that  this  system  of  farming 
would  produce  any  very  extraordinary  or  luxuriant 
crop.  Oliver  Twist's  ninth  birthday  found  him  a 
pale,  thin  child,  somewhat  diminutive  in  stature,  and 
decidedly  small  in  circumference.  But  nature  or  in 
heritance  had  implanted  a  good  sturdy  spirit  in  Oli 
ver's  breast.  It  had  had  plenty  room  to  expand, 
thanks  to  the  spare  diet  of  the  establishment ;  and 
perhaps  to  this  circumstance  may  be  attributed  his 
having  any  ninth  birthday  at  all.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
however,  it  was  his  ninth  birthday ;  and  he  was  keep 
ing  it  in  the  coal-cellar  with  a  select  party  of  two 
other  young  gentlemen,  Avho,  after  participating  with 
him  in  a  sound  thrashing,  had  been  locked  up  for 
atrociously  presuming  to  be  hungry,  when  Mrs.  Mann, 
the  good  lady  of  the  house,  was  unexpectedly  start 
led  by  the  apparition  of  Mr.  Bumble,  the  beadle, 
striving  to  undo  the  wicket  of  the  garden-gate. 

"Goodness  gracious!  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Bumble, 
sir  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  thrusting  her  head  out  of  the 
window  in  well-affected  ecstasies  of  joy.  "  (Susan, 
take  Oliver  and  them  two  brats  up  stairs  and  wash 


'em  directly.)  My  heart  alive!  Mr.  Bumble,  how 
glad  I  am  to  see  you,  sure-ly !" 

Now,  Mr.  Bumble  was  a  fat  man,  and  a  choleric ; 
so,  instead  of  responding  to  this  open-hearted  salu 
tation  in  a  kindred  spirit,  he  gave  the  little  wicket 
a  tremendous  shake,  and  then  bestowed  upon  it  a 
kick  which  could  have  emanated  from  no  leg  but  a 
beadle's. 

"  Lor,  only  think,"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  running  out, — 
for  the  three  boys  had  been  removed  by  this  time, — 
"  only  think  of  that !  That  I  should  have  forgotten 
that  the  gate  was  bolted  on  the  inside,  on  account 
of  them  dear  children !  Walk  in,  sir ;  walk  in  pray, 
Mr.  Bumble,  do,  sir." 

Although  this  invitation  was  accompanied  with  a 
courtesy  that  might  have  softened  the  heart  of  a 
church- warden,  it  by  no  means  mollified  the  beadle. 

"  Do  you  think  this  respectful  or  proper  conduct, 
Mrs.  Mann,"  inquired  Mr.  Bumble,  grasping  his  cane, 
"  to  keep  the  parish  officers  a-waiting  at  your  gar 
den-gate,  when  they  come  here  upon  porochial  busi 
ness  connected  with  the  porochial  orphans?  Are 
you  aweer,  Mrs.  Mann,  that  you  are,  as  I  may  say,  a 
porochial  delegate,  and  a  stipendiary  ?" 

"  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Bumble,  that  I  was  only  a-telling 
one  or  two  of  the  dear  children  as  is  so  fond  of  you, 
that  it  was  you  a-coming,"  replied  Mrs.  Mann,  with 
great  humility. 

Mr.  Bumble  had  a  great  idea  of  his  oratorical  pow 
ers  and  his  importance.  He  had  displayed  the  one, 
and  vindicated  the  other.  He  relaxed. 

"  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Mann,"  he  replied,  in  a  calmer 
tone ;  "  it  may  be  as  you  say ;  it  may  be.  Lead  the 
way  in,  Mrs.  Mann,  for  I  come  on  business,  and  have 
something  to  say." 

Mrs.  Mann  ushered  the  beadle  into  a  small  parlor 
with  a  brick  floor ;  placed  a  seat  for  bim ;  and  offi 
ciously  deposited  his  cocked  hat  and  cane  on  the  ta 
ble  before  him.  Mr.  Bumble  wiped  from  his  fore 
head  the  perspiration  which  his  walk  had  engender 
ed,  glanced  complacently  at  the  cocked  hat,  and 
smiled.  Yes,  he  smiled.  Beadles  are  but  men :  and 
Mr.  Bumble  smiled. 

"  Now  don't  you  be  offended  at  what  I'm  a-going 
to  say,"  observed  Mrs.  Mann,  with  a  captivating 
sweetness.  "  You've  had  a  long  walk,  you  know,  or 
I  wouldn't  mention  it.  Now,  will  you  take  a  little 
drop  of  somethink,  Mr.  Bumble." 

"  Not  a  drop.  Not  a  drop,"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
waving  his  right  hand  in  a  dignified,  but  placid 
manner. 

"  I  think  yon  will,"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  who  had  no 
ticed  the  tone  of  the  refusal,  and  the  gesture  that 
had  accompanied  it.  "  Just  a  leetle  drop,  with  a  lit 
tle  cold  water,  and  a  lump  of  sugar." 

Mr.  Bumble 'coughed. 

"Now,  just  a  leetle  drop,"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  persua 
sively. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  inquired  the  beadle. 

"  Why,  it's  what  I'm  obliged  to  keep  a  little  of  in 
the  house,  to  put  into  the  blessed  infants'  Daffy,  when 
they  ain't  well,  Mr.  Bumble,"  replied  Mrs.  Mann,  as 
she  opened  a  corner  cupboard  and  took  down  a  bot 
tle  and  glass.  "  It's  gin.  I'll  not  deceive  you,  Mr. 
B.  It's  gin." 

"  Do  you  give  the  children  Daffy,  Mrs.  Mann  ?"  in- 


12 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


quired  Bumble,  following  with  his  eyes  the  interest 
ing  process  of  mixing. 

"  Ah,  bless  'em,  that  I  do,  dear  as  it  is,"  replied  the 
nurse.  "I  couldn't  see  'em  suffer  before  my  very 
eyes,  you  know,  sir." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  approvingly;  "no,  you 
could  not.  You  are  a  humane  woman,  Mrs.  Mann." 
(Here  she  set  down  the  glass.)  "I  shall  take  a 
early  opportunity  of  mentioning  it  to  the  board,  Mrs. 
Mann."  (He  drew  it  toward  him.)  "You  feel  as  a 
mother,  Mrs.  Mann."  (He  stirred  the  gin-and-wa- 
ter.)  "  I — I  drink  your  health  with  cheerfulness, 
Mrs.  Maun ;"  and  he  swallowed  half  of  it. 

"  And  now  about  business,"  said  the  beadle,  tak 
ing  out  a  leathern  pocket-book.  "The  child  that 
was  half-baptized  Oliver  Twist,  is  nine  year  old  to 
day." 

"  Bless  him !"  interposed  Mrs.  Mann,  inflaming  her 
left  eye  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"And  notwithstanding  a  offered  reward  of  ten 
pound,  which  was  afterward  increased  to  twenty 
pound.  Notwithstanding  the  most  superlative,  and, 
I  may  say,  supernat'ral  exertions  on  the  part  of  this 
parish,"  said  Bumble,  "  we  have  never  been  able  to 
discover  who  is  his  father,  or  what  wras  his  mother's 
settlemept,  name,  or  con — dition." 

Mrs.  Mann  raised  her  hands  in  astonishment ;  but 
added,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  How  comes  he 
to  have  any  name  at  all,  then  ?" 

The  beadle  drew  himself  up  with  great  pride,  and 
said,  "  I  iuwented  it." 

"  You,  Mr.  Bumble !" 

"  I,  Mrs.  Mann.  We  name  our  foundlings  in  al 
phabetical  order.  The  last  was  a  S — Swubble,  I 
named  him.  This  was  a  T  —  Twist,  I  named  Mm. 
The  next  one  as  comes  will  be  Unwin,  and  the  next 
Vilkins.  I  have  got  names  ready  made  to  the  end 
of  the  alphabet,  and  all  the  way  through  it  again, 
when  we  come  to  Z." 

"  Why,  you  are  quite  a  literary  character,  sir !"  said 
Mrs.  Mann. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  beadle,  evidently  gratified 
with  the  compliment ;  "  perhaps  I  may  be.  ferhaps 
I  may  be,  Mrs.  Mann."  He  finished  the  gin-and-wa- 
ter,  and  added,  "  Oliver  being  now  too  old  to  remain 
here,  the  board  have  determined  to  have  him  back 
into  the  house.  I  have  come  out  myself  to  take  him 
there.  So  let  me  see  him  at  once." 

"  I'll  fetch  him  directly,"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  leaving 
the  room  for  that  purpose.  Oliver,  having  had  by 
this  time  as  much  of  the  outer  coat  of  dirt  which 
incrusted  his  face  and  hands,  removed,  as  could  be 
scrubbed  off  in  one  washing,  was  led  into  the  room 
by  his  benevolent  protectress. 

"  Make  a  bow  to  the  gentleman,  Oliver,"  said  Mrs. 
Mann. 

Oliver  made  a  bow,  which  was  divided  between 
the  beadle  on  the  chair,  and  the  cocked  hat  on  the 
table. 

"  Will  you  go  along  with  me,  Oliver  ?"  said  Mr. 
Bumble,  in  a  majestic  voice. 

Oliver  was  about  to  say  that  he  would  go  along 
with  any  body  with  great  readiness,  when,  glancing 
upward,  he  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Mann,  who  had  got 
behind  the  beadle's  chair,  and  was  shaking  her  fist 
at  him  with  a  furious  countenance.  He  took  the 


hint  at  once,  for  the  fist  had  been  too  often  impress 
ed  upon  his  body  not  to  be  deeply  impressed  upon 
his  recollection. 

"  Will  she  go  with  me  ?"  inquired  poor  Oliver. 

"  No,  she  can't,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble.  "  But  she'll 
come  and  see  you  sometimes." 

This  was  no  very  great  consolation  to  the  child. 
Young  as  he  was,  however,  he  had  sense  enough  to 
make  a  feint  of  feeling  great  regret  at  going  away. 
It  was  no  very  difficult  matter  for  the  boy  to  call 
tears  into  his  eyes.  Hunger  and  recent  ill-usage  are 
great  assistants  if  you  want  to  cry ;  and  Oliver  cried 
very  naturally  indeed.  Mrs.  Mann  gave  him  a  thou 
sand  embraces,  and,  what  Oliver  wanted  a  great  deal 
more,  a  piece  of  bread-and-butter,  lest  he  should  si-cm 
too  hungry  when  he  got  to  the  work-house.  With 
the  slice  of  bread  in  his  hand,  and  the  little  brown- 
cloth  parish  cap  on  his  head,  Oliver  was  then  led 
away  by  Mr.  Bumble  from  the  wretched  home  Avhcrr 
one  kind  word  or  look  had  never  lighted  the  gloom 
of  his  infant  years.  And  yet  he  burst  into  an  agony 
of  childish  grief,  as  the  cottage-gate  closed  after  him. 
Wretched  as  were  the  little  companions  in  misery  he 
was  leaving  behind,  they  were  the  only  friends  he 
had  ever  known ;  and  a  sense  of  his  loneliness  in  the 
great  wide  world,  sank  into  the  child's  heart  for  the 
first  time. 

Mr.  Bumble  walked  on  with  long  strides ;  little 
Oliver,  firmly  grasping  his  gold  -  laced  cuff,  trotted 
beside  him,  inquiring  at  the  end  of  every  quarter  of 
a  mile  whether  they  were  "  nearly  there."  To  these 
interrogations  Mr.  Bumble  returned  very  brief  and 
snappish  replies;  for  the  temporary  blandness  which 
gin-and-water  awakens  in  some  bosoms  had  by  this 
time  evaporated ;  and  he  was  once  again  a  beadle. 

Oliver  had  not  been  within  the  walls  of  the  work 
house  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  had  scarcely  com 
pleted  the  demolition  of  a  second  slice  of  bread, 
when  Mr.  Bumble,  who  had  handed  him  over  to  the 
care  of  an  old  woman,  returned ;  and,  telling  him  it 
was  a  board  night,  informed  him  that  the  board  had 
said  he  was  to  appear  before  it  forthwith. 

.  Not  having  a  very  clearly  defined  notion  of  what 
a  live  board  was,  Oliver  was  rather  astounded  by  this 
intelligence,  and  was  not  quite  certain  whether  he 
ought  to  laugh  or  cry.  He  had  no  time  to  think 
about  the  matter,  however ;  for  Mr.  Bumble  gave 
him  a  tap  on  the  head  with  his  cane,  to  wake  him 
up :  and  another  oil  the  back  to  make  him  lively : 
and  bidding  him  follow,  conducted  him  into  a  large 
whitewashed  room,  where  eight  or  ten  fat  gentlemen 
were  sitting  round  a  table.  At  the  top  of  the  table, 
seated  in  an  arm-chair  rather  higher  than  the  rest, 
was  a  particularly  fat  gentleman  with  a  very  round, 
red  face. 

"  Bow  to  the  board,"  said  Bumble.  Oliver  brush 
ed  away  two  or  three  tears  that  were  lingering  in 
his  eyes ;  and  seeing  no  board  but  the  table,  fortu 
nately  bowed  to  that. 

"  What's  your  name,  boy  ?"  said  the  gentleman  in 
the  high  chair. 

Oliver  was  frightened  at  the  sight  of  so  many  gen 
tlemen,  which  made  him  tremble :  and  the  beadle 
gave  him  another  tap  behind,  which  made  him  cry. 
These  two  causes  made  him  answer  in  a  very  low 
and  hesitating  voice ;  whereupon  a  gentleman  in  a 


BEFORE  THE  BOARD. 


13 


white  waistcoat  said  he  was  a  fool.  Which  was  a 
capital  way  of  raising  his  spirits,  aud  putting  him 
quite  at  his  case. 

"  Boy,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  high  chair,  "  list 
en  to  me.  You  know  you're  an  orphan,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  What's  that,  sir?"  inquired  poor  Oliver. 

"  The  boy  is  a  fool — I  thought  he  was,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat. 

"  Hush !"  said  the  gentleman  who  had  spoken  first. 
"  You  know  you've  got  no  father  or  mother,  and  that 
you  were  brought  up  by  the  parish,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  weeping  bitterly. 

"  What  are  you  crying  for  ?"  inquired  the  gentle 
man  in  the  white  waistcoat.  And  to  be  sure  it  was 
very  extraordinary.  What  could  the  boy  be  crying 
for! 

"  I  hope  you  say  your  prayers  every  night,"  said 
another  gentleman,  in  a  gruff  voice ;  "  and  pray  for 
the  people  who  feed  you  and  take  care  of  you— like 
a  Christian." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  stammered  the  boy.  The  gentleman 
who  spoke  last  was  unconsciously  right.  It  would 
have  been  very  like  a  Christian,  and  a  marvelously 
good  Christian,  too,  if  Oliver  had  prayed  for  the  peo 
ple  who  fed  and  took  care  of  Mm.  But  he  hadn't, 
because  nobody  had  taught  him. 

"  Well !  You  have  come  here  to  be  educated,  and 
taught  a  useful  trade,"  said  the  red-faced  gentleman 
in  the  high  chair. 

"  So  you'll  begin  to  pick  oakum  to-morrow  morn 
ing  at  six  o'clock,"  added  the  surly  one  in  the  white 
waistcoat. 

For  the  combination  of  both  these  blessings  in  the 
one  simple  process  of  picking  oakum,  Oliver  bowed 
low  by  the  direction  of  the  beadle,  and  was  then  hur 
ried  away  to  a  large  ward :  where,  on  a  rough,  hard 
bed,  he  sobbed  himself  to  sleep.  What  a  noble  illus 
tration  of  the  tender  laws  of  England !  They  let  the 
paupers  go  to  sleep ! 

Poor  Oliver !  He  little  thought,  as  he  lay  sleeping 
in  happy  unconsciousness  of  all  around  him,  that  the 
board  had  that  very  day  arrived  at  a  decision  which 
would  exercise  the  most  material  influence  over  all 
his  future  fortunes.  But  they  had.  And  this  was 
it: 

The  members  of  this  board  were  very  sage,  deep, 
philosophical  men ;  and  Avhen  they  came  to  turn 
their  attention  to  the  work-house,  they  found  out  at 
once,  what  ordinary  folks  would  never  have  discov 
ered — the  poor  people  liked  it!  It  was  a  regular 
place  of  public  entertainment  for  the  poorer  classes; 
a  tavern  where  there  was  nothing  to  pay ;  a  public 
breakfast,  dinner,  tea,  and  supper,  all  the  year  round ; 
a  brick  and  mortar  elysium,  where  it  was  all  play 
and  no  work.  "  Oho !"  said  the  board,  looking  very 
knowing ;  "  we  are  the  fellows  to  set  this  to  rights ; 
we'll  stop  it  all,  in  no  time."  So,  they  established 
the  rule,  that  all  poor  people  should  have  the  alter 
native  (for  they  would  compel  nobody,  not  they),  of 
being  starved  by  a  gradual  process  in  the  house,  or 
by  a  quick  one  out  of  it.  With  this  view,  they  con 
tracted  with  the  water-works  to  lay  on  an  unlimited 
supply  of  water ;  and  with  a  corn-factor  to  supply 
periodically  small  quantities  of  oatmeal ;  and  issued 
three  meals  of  thin  gruel  a  day,  with  an  onion  twice 
a  week,  and  half  a  roll  on  Sundays.  They  made  a 


great  many  other  wise  and  humane  regulations,  hav 
ing  reference  to  the  ladies,  which  it  is  not  necessary 
to  repeat ;  kindly  undertook  to  divorce  poor  married 
people,  in  consequence  of  the  great  expense  of  a  suit 
in  Doctors'  Commons ;  and,  instead  of  compelling  a 
man  to  support  his  family,  as  they  had  theretofore 
done,  took  his  family  away  from  him,  and  made  him 
a  bachelor!  There  is  no  saying  how  many  appli 
cants  for  relief,  under  these  last  two  heads,  might 
have  started  up  in  all  classes  of  society,  if  it  had  not 
been  coupled  with  the  work-house;  but  the  board 
were  long  -  headed  men,  and  had  provided  for  this 
difficulty.  The  relief  was  inseparable  from  the 
work-house  and  the  gruel ;  and  that  frightened  peo 
ple. 

For  the  first  six  months  after  Oliver  Twist  was 
removed,  the  system  was  in  full  operation.  It  was 
rather  expensive  at  first,  in  consequence  of  the  in 
crease  in  the  undertaker's  bill,  and  the  necessity  of 
taking  in  the  clothes  of  all  the  paupers,  which  flut 
tered  loosely  on  their  wasted,  shrunken  forms,  after 
a  week  or  two's  gruel.  But  the  number  of  work 
house  inmates  got  thin  as  well  as  the  paupers ;  and 
the  board  were  in  ecstasies. 

The  room  in  which  the  boys  were  fed  was  a  large 
stone  hall,  with  a  copper  at  one  end  ;  out  of  which 
the  master,  dressed  in  an  apron  for  the  purpose,  and 
assisted  by  one  or  two  women,  ladled  the  gruel  at 
meal  -  times.  Of  this  festive  composition  each  boy 
had  one  porringer,  and  no  more  —  except  on  occa 
sions  of  great  public  rejoicing,  when  he  had  two 
ounces  and  a  quarter  of  bread  besides.  The  bowls 
never  wanted  washing.  The  boys  polished  them 
with  their  spoons  till  they  shone  again ;  and  when 
they  had  performed  this  operation  (which  never 
took  very  long,  the  spoons  being  nearly  as  large  as 
the  bowls),  they  would  sit  staring  at  the  copper, 
with  such  eager  eyes,  as  if  they  could  have  devoured 
the  very  bricks  of  which  it  was  composed ;  employ 
ing  themselves,  meanwhile,  in  sucking  their  fingers 
most  assiduously,  with  the  view  of  catching  up  any 
stray  splashes  of  gruel  that  might  have  been  cast 
thereon.  Boys  have  generally  excellent  appetites. 
Oliver  Twist  and  his  companions  suffered  the  tor 
tures  of  slow  starvation  for  three  months:  at  last 
they  got  so  voracious  and  wild  with  hunger,  that 
one  boy,  who  was  tall  for  his  age,  and  hadn't  been 
used  to  that  sort  of  thing  (for  his  father  had  kept  a 
small  cook-shop),  hinted  darkly  to  his  companions, 
that  unless  he  had  another  basin  of  gruel  per  diem, 
he  was  afraid  he  might  some  night  happen  to  eat 
the  boy  who  slept  next  him,  who  happened  to  be  a 
weakly  youth  of  tender  age.  He  had  a  wild,  hungry 
eye;  and  they  implicitly  believed  him.  A  council 
was  held ;  lots  were  cast  who  should  walk  up  to  the 
master  after  supper  that  evening,  and  ask  for  more ; 
and  it  fell  to  Oliver  Twist. 

The  evening  arrived ;  the  boys  took  their  places. 
The  master,  in  his  cook's  uniform,  stationed  himself 
at  the  copper;  his  pauper  assistants  ranged  them 
selves  behind  him ;  the  gruel  was  served  out ;  and  a 
long  grace  was  said  over  the  short  commons.  The 
gruel  disappeared;  the  boys  whispered  each  other, 
and  winked  at  Oliver ;  while  his  next  neighbors 
nudged  him.  Child  as  he  was,  he  was  desperate 
I  with  hunger,  and  reckless  with  misery.  He  rose 


14 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


from  the  table ;  and  advancing  to  the  master,  basin 
and  spoon  in  hand,  said,  somewhat  alarmed  at  his 
owu  temerity : 

"  Please,  sir,  I  want  some  more." 

The  master  was  a  fat,  healthy  man  ;  but  he  turned 
very  pale.  He  gazed  in  stupefied  astonishment  on 
the  small  rebel  for  some  seconds,  and  then  clung  for 
support  to  the  copper.  The  assistants  were  para 
lyzed  with  wonder ;  the  boys  with  fear. 

"What!"  said  the  master  at  length,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

"  Please,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  "  I  want  some  more." 

The  master  aimed  a  blow  at  Oliver's  head  with  the 
ladle ;  pinioned  him  in  his  arms ;  and  shrieked  aloud 
for  the  beadle. 

The  board  were  sitting  in  solemn  conclave,  when 
Mr.  Bumble  rushed  into  the  room  in  great  excite 
ment,  and  addressing  the  gentleman  in  the  high 
chair,  said, 

"Mr.  Limbkius,  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir!  Oliver 
Twist  has  asked  for  more." 

There  was  a  general  start.  Horror  was  depicted 
on  every  countenance. 

"  For  more  !"  said  Mr.  Limbkins.  "  Compose  your 
self,  Bumble,  and  answer  me  distinctly.  Do  I  under 
stand  that  he  asked  for  more,  after  he  had  eaten  the 
supper  allotted  by  the  dietary  ?" 

"  He  did,  sir,"  replied  Bumble. 

"  That  boy  will  be  hung,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
the  white  waistcoat.  "I  know  that  boy  will  be 
hung." 

Nobody  controverted  the  prophetic  gentleman's 
opinion.  An  animated  discussion  took  place.  Ol 
iver  was  ordered  into  instant  confinement;  and  a 
bill  was  next  morning  pasted  on  the  outside  of  the 
gate,  offering  a  reward  of  five  pounds  to  any  body 
who  would  take  Oliver  Twist  off  the  hands  of  the 
parish.  In  other  words,  five  pounds  and  Oliver 
Twist  were  offered  to  any  man  or  woman  who  want 
ed  an  apprentice  to  any  trade,  business,  or  calling. 

"  I  never  was  more  convinced  of  any  thing  in  my 
life,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat,  as 
he  knocked  at  the  gate  and  read  the  bill  next  morn 
ing  :  "  I  never  was  more  convinced  of  any  thing  in 
my  life,  than  I  am  that  that  boy  will  come  to  be 
hung." 

As  I  purpose  to  show  in  the  sequel  whether  the 
white -waistcoated  gentleman  was  right  or  not,  I 
should  perhaps  mar  the  interest  of  this  narrative 
(supposing  it  to  possess  any  at  all),  if  I  ventured  to 
hint  just  yet,  whether  the  life  of  Oliver  Twist  had 
this  violent  termination  or  no. 


CHAPTER  III. 

RELATES  HOW  OLIVER  TWIST  WAS  VERT  NEAR   GETTING 
A  PLACE   WHICH  WOULD   NOT  HAVE  BEEN  A  SINECURE. 

FOR  a  week  after  the  commission  of  the  impious 
and  profane  offense  of  asking  for  more,  Oliver 
remained  a  close  prisoner  in  the  dark  and  solitary 
room  to  which  he  had  been  consigned  by  the  wis 
dom  and  mercy  of  the  board.  It  appears,  at  first 
sight,  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that,  if  he  had 
entertained  a  becoming  feeling  of  respect  for  the 


prediction  of  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat, 
he  would  have  established  that  sage  individual's  pro 
phetic  character,  once  and  forever,  by  tying  one  end 
of  his  pocket-handkerchief  to  a  hook  in  the  wall,  and 
attaching  himself  to  the  other.  To  the  performance 
of  this  feat,  however,  there  was  one  obstacle ;  name 
ly,  that  pocket-handkerchiefs  being  decided  articles 
of  luxury,  had  been,  for  all  future  times  and  ages, 
removed  from  the  noses  of  paupers  by  the  express 
order  of  the  board,  in  council  assembled :  solemnly 
given  and  pronounced  under  their  hands  and  seals. 
There  was  a  still  greater  obstacle  in  Oliver's  youth 
and  childishness.  He  only  cried  bitterly  all  day; 
and,  when  the  long,  dismal  night  came  on,  spread  his 
little  hands  before  bis  eyes  to  shut  out  the  darkness, 
and  crouching  in  the  corner,  tried  to  sleep :  ever  and 
anon  waking  with  a  start  and  tremble,  and  drawing 
himself  closer  and  closer  to  the  wall,  as  if  to  feel 
even  its  cold  hard  surface  were  a  protection  in  the 
gloom  and  loneliness  which  surrounded  him. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  by  the  enemies  of  "the 
system,"  that,  during  the  period  of  his  solitary  in 
carceration,  Oliver  was  denied  the  benefit  of  exer 
cise,  the  pleasure  of  society,  or  the  advantages  of  re 
ligious  consolation.  As  for  exercise,  it  was  nice  cold 
weather,  and  he  was  allowed  to  perform  his  ablu 
tions  every  morning  under  the  pump,  in  a  stone 
yard,  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Bumble,  who  prevented 
his  catching  cold,  and  caused  a  tingling  sensation  to 
pervade  his  frame,  by  repeated  applications  of  the 
cane.  As  for  society, he  was  carried  every  other  day 
into  the  hall  where  the  boys  dined,  and  there  socia 
bly  flogged  as  a  public  warning  and  example.  And 
so  far  from  being  denied  the  advantages  of  religious 
consolation,  he  was  kicked  into  the  same  apartment 
every  evening  at  prayer-time,  and  there  permitted  to 
listen  to,  and  console  his  mind  with,  a  general  suppli 
cation  of  the  boys,  containing  a  special  clause,  there 
in  inserted  by  authority  of  the  board,  in  which  they 
entreated  to  be  made  good,  virtuous,  contented,  and 
obedient,  and  to  be  guarded  from  the  sins  and  vices 
of  Oliver  Twist:  whom  the  supplication  distinctly 
set  forth  to  be  under  the  exclusive  patronage  and 
protection  of  the  powers  of  wickedness,  and  an  arti 
cle  direct  from  the  manufactory  of  the  very  Devil 
himself. 

It  chanced  one  morning,  while  Oliver's  affairs 
were  in  this  auspicious  and  comfortable  state,  that 
Mr.  Gamfield,  chimney-sweep,  went  his  way  down 
the  High  Street,  deeply  cogitating  in  his  mind  his 
ways  and  means  of  paying  certain  arrears  of  rent, 
for  which  his  landlord  had  become  rather  pressing. 
Mr.  Gamfield's  most  sanguine  estimate  of  his  finances 
could  not  raise  them  within  full  five  pounds  of  the 
desired  amount ;  and,  in  a  species  of  arithmetical 
desperation,  he  was  alternately  cudgeling  his  brains 
and  his  donkey,  when,  passing  the  work-house,  his 
eyes  encountered  the  bill  on  the  gate. 

"Wo — o !"  said  Mr.  Gamfield  to  the  donkey. 

The  donkey  was  in  a  state  of  profound  abstrac 
tion  :  wondering,  probably,  whether  he  was  destined 
to  be  regaled  with  a  cabbage-stalk  or  two  when  he 
had  disposed  of  the  two  sacks  of  soot  with  which  the 
little  cart  was  laden ;  so,  without  noticing  the  word 
of  command,  he  jogged  onward. 

Mr.  Gamfield  growled  a  fierce  imprecation  on  the 


ALMOST  APPRENTICED. 


15 


donkey  generally,  but  more  particularly  on  his  eyes ; 
and,  running  after  him,  bestowed  a  blow  on  Ms  head, 
which  would  inevitably  have  beaten  in  any  skull  but 
a  donkey's.  Then,  catching  hold  of  the  bridle,  he 
gave  his  jaw  a  sharp  wrench,  by  way  of  gentle  re 
minder  that  he  was  not  his  own  master;  and  by 
these  means  turned  him  round.  He  then  gave  him 
another  blow  on  the  head,  just  to  stun  him  till  he 
came  back  again.  Having  completed  these  arrange 
ments,  he  walked  up  to  the  gate,  to  read  the  bill. 

The  gentleman  with  the  white  waistcoat  was  stand 
ing  at  the  gate  with  his  hands  behind  him,  after  hav 
ing  delivered  himself  of  some  profound  sentiments  in 
the  board-room.  Having  witnessed  the  little  dispute 
between  Mr.  Gamfield  and  the  donkey,  he  smiled  joy 
ously  when  that  person  came  up  to  read  the  bill,  for 
he  saw  at  once  that  Mr.  Gamfield  was  exactly  the 
sort  of  master  Oliver  Twist  wanted.  Mr.  Gamfield 
smiled,  too,  as  he  perused  the  document ;  for  five 
pounds  was  just  the  sum  he  had  been  wishing  for ; 
and,  as  to  the  boy  with  which  it  was  incumbered, 
Mr.  Gamfield,  knowing  Avhat  the  dietary  of  the  work 
house  was,  well  knew  he  would  be  a  nice  small  pat 
tern,  just  the  very  thing  for  register  stoves.  So,  he 
spelled  the  bill  through  again  from  beginning  to  end ; 
and  then,  touching  his  fur  cap  in  token  of  humility, 
accosted  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat. 

"  This  here  boy,  sir,  wot  the  parish  wants  to  'pren- 
tis,"  said  Mr.  Gamfield. 

"Ay,  my  man,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  white 
waistcoat,  with  a  condescending  smile.  "  What  of 
him  ?" 

"  If  the  parish  vould  like  him  to  learn  a  light  pleas 
ant  trade,  in  a  good  'spectable  chimbley-sweepiu'  bis- 
ness,"  said  Mr.  Gamfield,  "  I  wants  a  'prentis,  and  I 
am  ready  to  take  him." 

"  Walk  in,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waist 
coat,  Mr.  Gamfield  having  lingered  behind,  to  give 
the  donkey  another  blow  on  the  head,  and  another 
wrench  of  the  jaw,  as  a  caution  not  to  run  away  in 
his  absence,  followed  the  gentleman  with  the  white 
waistcoat  into  the  room  where  Oliver  had  first  seen 
him. 

"  It's  a  nasty  trade,"  said  Mr.  Limbkins,  when 
Gamfield  had  again  stated  his  wish. 

"Young  boys  have  been  smothered  in  chimneys 
before  now,"  said  another  gentleman. 

"  That's  acause  they  damped  the  straw  afore  they 
lit  it  in  the  chimbley  to  make  'em  come  down  agin," 
said  Gamfield ;  "  that's  all  smoke,  and  no  blaze ; 
vereas  smoke  ain't  o'  no  use  at  all  in  making  a  boy 
come  down,  for  it  only  siuds  him  to  sleep,  and  that's 
wot  he  likes.  Boys  is  wery  obstiuit,  and  wery  lazy, 
gen'lmen,  and  there's  nothink  like  a  good  hot  blaze 
to  make  'em  come  down  vith  a  run.  It's  humane 
too,  gen'lmen,  acause,  even  if  they've  stuck  in  the 
chimbley,  roasting  their  feet  makes  'em  struggle  to 
hextricate  theirselves." 

The  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat  appeared 
very  much  amused  by  this  explanation ;  but  his 
mirth  was  speedily  checked  by  a  look  from  Mr. 
Limbkins.  The  board  then  proceeded  to  converse 
among  themselves  for  a  few  minutes,  but  in  so  low  a 
tone,  that  the  words  "  saving  of  expenditure,"  "  look 
ed  well  in  the  accounts,"  "  have  a  printed  report  pub 
lished,"  were  alone  audible.  These  only  chanced  to 


be  heard,  indeed,  on  account  of  their  being  very  fre 
quently  repeated  with  great  emphasis. 

At  length  the  whispering  ceased;  and  the  mem 
bers  of  the  board,  having  resumed  their  seats  and 
their  solemnity,  Mr.  Limbkins  said : 

"  We  have  considered  your  proposition,  and  we 
don't  approve  of  it." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  white 
waistcoat. 

"  Decidedly  not,"  added  the  other  members. 

As  Mr.  Gamfield  did  happen  to  labor  under  the 
slight  imputation  of  having  bruised  three  or  four 
boys  to  death  already,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the 
board  had,  perhaps,  in  some  unaccountable  freak, 
taken  it  into  their  heads  that  this  extraneous  circum 
stance  ought  to  influence  their  proceedings.  It  was 
very  unlike  their  general  mode  of  doing  business,  if 
they  had ;  but  still,  as  he  had  no  particular  wish  to 
revive  the  rumor,  he  twisted  his  cap  in  his  hands, 
and  walked  slowly  from  the  table. 

"  So  you  won't  let  me  have  him,  gen'lmen  ?"  said 
Mr.  Gamfield,  pausing  near  the  door. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Limbkins ;  "  at  least,  as  it's  a 
nasty  business,  we  think  you  ought  to  take  some 
thing  less  than  the  premium  we  oifered." 

Mr.  Gamfield's  countenance  brightened,  as,  with  a 
quick  step,  he  returned  to  the  table,  and  said, 

"  What'll  you  give,  gen'lmen  ?  Come !  Don't  be 
too  hard  on  a  poor  man.  What'll  you  give  ?" 

"  I  should  say  three  pound  ten  was  plenty,"  said 
Mr.  Limbkins. 

"  Ten  shillings  too  much,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
the  white  waistcoat. 

"  Come !"  said  Gamfield ;  "  say  four  pound,  gen'l 
men.  Say  four  pound,  and  you've  got  rid  on  him  for 
good  and  all.  There !" 

"  Three  pound  ten,"  repeated  Mr.  Limbkins,  firmly. 

"  Come !  I'll  split  the  difference,  gen'lmen,"  urged 
Gamfield.  "  Three  pound  fifteen." 

"  Not  a  farthing  more,"  was  the  firm  reply  of  Mr. 
Limbkins. 

"  You're  desperate  hard  upon  me,  gen'lmen,"  said 
Gamfield,  wavering. 

"Pooh!  pooh!  nonsense!"  said  the  gentleman  in 
the  white  waistcoat.  "  He'd  be  cheap  with  nothing 
at  all,  as  a  premium.  Take  him,  you  silly  fellow ! 
He's  just  the  boy  for  you.  He  wants  the  stick,  now 
and  then  :  it'll  do  him  good ;  and  his  board  needn't 
come  very  expensive,  for  he  hasn't  been  overfed  since 
he  was  born.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

JMr.  Gamfield  gave  an  arch  look  at  the  faces  round 
the  table,  and,  observing  a  smile  on  all  of  them,  grad 
ually  broke  into  a  smile  himself.  The  bargain  was 
made.  Mr.  Bumble  was  at  once  instructed  that  Oli 
ver  Twist  and  his  indentures  were  to  be  conveyed 
before  the  magistrate,  for  signature  and  approval, 
that  very  afternoon. 

In  pursuance  of  this  determination,  little  Oliver,  to 
his  excessive  astonishment,  was  released  from  bond 
age,  and  ordered  to  put  himself  into  a  clean  shirt. 
He  had  hardly  achieved  this  very  unusual  gymnas 
tic  performance,  when  Mr.  Bumble  brought  him,  with 
his  own  hands,  a  basin  of  gruel,  and  the  holiday  al 
lowance  of  two  ounces  and  a  quarter  of  bread.  At 
this  tremendous  sight,  Oliver  began  to  cry  very  pit- 
eously :  thinking,  not  unnaturally,  that  the  board 


16 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


must  have  determined  to  kill  him  for  some  useful 
purpose,  or  they  never  would  have  begun  to  fatten 
him  up  in  that  way. 

"  Don't  make  your  eyes  red,  Oliver,  but  eat  your 
food  and  be  thankful,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  in  a  tone  of 
impressive  pomposity.  "  You're  a  going  to  be  made 
a  'prentice  of,  Oliver." 

"A  'prentice,  sir!"  said  the  child,  trembling. 

"  Yes,  Oliver,"  said  Mr.  Bumble.  "  The  kind  and 
blessed  gentlemen  which  is  so  many  parents  to  you, 
Oliver,  when  you  had  none  of  your  own,  are  a  going 
to  'prentice  you,  and  to  set  you  up  in  life,  and  make 
a  man  of  you :  although  the  expense  to  the  parish  is 
three  pound  ten ! — three  pound  ten,  Oliver ! — seventy 
shillings — one  hundred  and  forty  sixpences !— and  all 
for  a  naughty  orphan  which  nobody  can't  love." 

As  Mr.  Bumble  paused  to  take  breath,  after  deliv 
ering  this  address  in  an  awful  voice,  the  tears  rolled 
down  the  poor  child's  face,  and  he  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  somewhat  less  pompous 
ly,  for  it  was  gratifying  to  his  feelings  to  observe  the 
effect  his  eloquence  had  produced ;  "  come,  Oliver ! 
Wipe  your  eyes  with  the  cuffs  of  your  jacket,  and 
don't  cry  into  your  gruel ;  that's  a  very  foolish  ac 
tion,  Oliver."  It  certainly  was,  for  there  was  quite 
enough  water  in  it  already. 

On  their  way  to  the  magistrate,  Mr.  Bumble  in 
structed  Oliver  that  all  he  would  have  to  do  would 
be  to  look  very  happy,  and  say,  when  the  gentleman 
asked  him  if  he  wanted  to  be  apprenticed,  that  he 
should  like  it  very  much  indeed ;  both  of  which  in 
junctions  Oliver  promised  to  obey:  the  rather  as  Mr. 
Bumble  threw  in  a  gentle  hint,  that  if  he  failed  in 
either  particular,  there  was  no  telling  what  would 
be  done  to  him.  When  they  arrived  at  the  office,  he 
was  shut  up  in  a  little  room  by  himself,  and  admon 
ished  by  Mr.  Bumble  to  stay  there,  until  he  came 
back  to  fetch  him. 

There  the  boy  remained,  with  a  palpitating  heart, 
for  half  an  hour.  At  the  expiration  of  which  time 
Mr.  Bumble  thrust  in  his  head,  unadorned  with  the 
cocked  hat,  and  said  aloud : 

"  Now,  Oliver,  my  dear,  come  to  the  gentleman." 
As  Mr.  Bumble  said  this,  he  put  on  a  grim  and  threat 
ening  look,  and  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Mind  Avhat  I 
told  you,  you  young  rascal !" 

Oliver  stared  innocently  in  Mr.  Bumble's  face  at 
this  somewhat  contradictory  style  of  address ;  but 
that  gentleman  prevented  his  offering  any  remark 
thereupon,  by  leading  him  at  once  into  an  adjoin 
ing  room :  the  door  of  which  was  open.  It  was.  a 
large  room,  with  a  great  window.  Behind  a  desk 
sat  two  old  gentlemen  with  powdered  heads :  one  of 
whom  was  reading  the  newspaper ;  while  the  other 
was  perusing,  with  the  aid  of  a  pair  of  tortoise-shell 
spectacles,  a  small  piece  of  parchment  which  lay  be 
fore  him.  Mr.  Limbkins  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  desk  on  one  side ;  and  Mr.  Gamfield,  with  a  par 
tially  washed  face,  on  the  other;  while  two  or  three 
bluff-looking  men,  in  top-boots,  were  lounging  about. 

The  old  gentleman  with  the  spectacles  gradually 
dozed  off,  over  the  little  bit  of  parchment ;  and  there 
was  a  short  pause,  after  Oliver  had  been  stationed  by 
Mr.  Bumble  in  front  of  the  desk. 

"  This  is  the  boy,  your  worship,"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 

The  old  gentleman  who  was  reading  the  newspa 


per  raised  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  pulled  the  oth 
er  old  gentleman  by  the  sleeve ;  whereupon  the  last- 
mentioned  old  gentleman  woke  up. 

"  Oh,  is  this  the  boy  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman. 

"  This  is  him,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble.  "  Bow  to 
the  magistrate,  my  dear." 

Oliver  roused  himself,  and  made  his  best  obeisance. 
He  had  been  wondering,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
magistrates'  powder,  whether  all  boards  were  born 
with  that  white  stuff  on  their  heads,  and  were  boards 
from  thenceforth  on  that  account. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  suppose  he's 
fond  of  chimney-sweeping  ?" 

"  He  dotes  on  it,  your  worship,"  replied  Bumble ; 
giving  Oliver  a  sly  pinch,  to  intimate  that  he  had 
better  not  say  he  didn't. 

"  And  he  will  be  a  sweep,  will  he  ?"  inquired  the 
old  gentleman. 

"  If  we  was  to  bind  him  to  any  other  trade  to-mor 
row,  he'd  run  away  simultaneous,  your  worship,"  re 
plied  Bumble. 

"  And  this  man  that's  to  be  his  master — you,  sir — 
you'll  treat  him  well,  and  feed  him,  and  do  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  will  you  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman. 

"  When  I  says  I  will,  I  means  I  will,"  replied  Mr. 
Gamfield,  doggedly. 

"  You're  a  rough  speaker,  my  friend,  but  you  look 
an  honest,  open-hearted  man,"  said  the  old  gentle 
man  :  turning  his  spectacles  in  the  direction  of  the 
candidate  for  Oliver's  premium,  whose  villainous 
countenance  was  a  regular  stamped  receipt  for  cru 
elty.  But  the  magistrate  was  half  blind  and  half 
childish,  so  he  couldn't  reasonably  be  expected  to 
discern  what  other  people  did. 

"  I  hope  I  am,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gamfield,  with  an  ugly 
leer. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  are,  my  friend,"  replied  the 
old  gentleman,  fixing  his  spectacles  more  firmly  on 
his  nose,  and  looking  about  him  for  the  inkstand. 

It  was  the  critical  moment  of  Oliver's  fate.  If  the 
inkstand  had  been  where  the  old  gentleman  thought 
it  was,  he  would  have  dipped  his  pen  into  it,  and 
signed  the  indentures,  and  Oliver  would  have  been 
straightway  hurried  off.  But,  as  it  chanced  to  be 
immediately  under  his  nose,  it  followed,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  that  he  looked  all  over  his  desk  for  it,  with 
out  finding  it ;  and  happening  in  the  course  of  his 
search  to  look  straight  before  him,  his  gaze  encoun 
tered  the  pale  and  terrified  face  of  Oliver  T\vist : 
who,  despite  all  the  admonitory  looks  and  pinches  of 
Bumble,  was  regarding  the  repulsive  countenance 
of  his  future  master,  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
horror  and  fear,  too  palpable  to  be  mistaken,  even  by 
a  half-blind  magistrate. 

The  old  gentleman  stopped,  laid  down  his  pen,  and 
looked  from  Oliver  to  Mr.  Limbkins ;  who  attempted 
to  take  snuff  with  a  cheerful  and  unconcerned  aspect. 

"My  boy!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  leaning  over 
the  desk.  Oliver  started  at  the  sound.  He  might 
be  excused  for  doing  so :  for  the  words  were  kindly 
said;  and  strange  sounds  frighten  one.  He  trembled 
violently,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  My  boy !"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  you  look  pale 
and  alarmed.  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Stand  a  little  away  from  him,  Beadle,"  said  the 
other  magistrate :  laying  aside  the  paper,  and  lean- 


ANOTHER  PLACE  OFFERS. 


17 


iug  forward  with  aii  expression  of  interest.  "  Now, 
boy,  tell  us  what's  the  matter :  don't  be  afraid." 

Oliver  fell  on  his  knees,  and  clasping  his  hands  to 
gether,  prayed  that  they  would  order  him  back  to  the 
dark  room — that  they  would  starve  him — beat  him 
— kill  him,  if  they  pleased — rather  than  send  him 
away  with  that  dreadful  man. 

"  Well !"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  raising  his  hands  and 
eyes  with  most  impressive  solemnity.  "  Well !  of  all 
the  artful  and  designing  orphans  that  ever  I  see, 
Oliver,  you  are  one  of  the  most  barcfacedest." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Beadle,"  said  the  second  old 
gentleman,  when  Mr.  Bumble  had  given  vent  to  this 
compound  adjective. 

"  I  beg  your  worship's  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
incredulous  of  his  having  heard  aright.  "  Did  your 
worship  speak  to  me  ?" 

"  Yes.     Hold  your  tongue." 

Mr.  Bumble  was  stupefied  with  astonishment.  A 
beadle  ordered  to  hold  his  tongue !  A  moral  revolu 
tion! 

The  old  gentleman  in  the  tortoise-shell  spectacles 
looked  at  his  companion,  he  nodded  significantly. 

"  We  refuse  to  sanction  these  indentures,"  said  the 
old  gentleman :  tossing  aside  the  piece  of  parchment 
as  he  spoke. 

"  I  hope,"  stammered  Mr.  Limbkins :  "  I  hope  the 
magistrates  will  not  form  the  opinion  that  the  au 
thorities  have  been  guilty  of  any  improper  conduct, 
on  the  unsupported  testimony  of  a  mere  child." 

"  The  magistrates  are  not  called  upon  to  pronounce 
any  opinion  on  the  matter,"  said  the  second  old  gen 
tleman  sharply.  "  Take  the  boy  back  to  the  work 
house,  and  treat  him  kindly.  He  seems  to  want  it." 

That  same  evening,  the  gentleman  in  the  white 
waistcoat  most  positively  and  decidedly  affirmed, 
not  only  that  Oliver  would  be  hung,  but  that  he 
would  be  drawn  and  quartered  into  the  bargain. 
Mr.  Bumble  shook  his  head  with  gloomy  mystery, 
and  said  he  wished  he  might  come  to  good ;  where- 
unto  Mr.  Gamfield  replied,  that  he  wished  he  might 
come  to  him ;  which,  although  he  agreed  with  the 
beadle  in  most  matters,  would  seem  to  be  a  wish  of 
a  totally  opposite  description. 

The  next  morning,  the  public  were  once  more  in 
formed  that  Oliver  Twist  was  again  To  Let,  and  that 
five  pounds  would  be  paid  to  auy  body  who  would 
take  possession  of  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OLIVER,    BEING     OFFERED    ANOTHER    PLACE,    MAKES    HIS 
FIRST   ENTRY   INTO  PUBLIC   LIFE. 

IN  great  families,  when  an  advantageous  place  can 
not  be  obtained,  either  in  possession,  reversion,  re 
mainder,  or  expectancy,  for  the  young  man  who  is 
growing  up,  it  is  a  very  general  custom  to  send  him 
to  sea.  The  board,  in  imitation  of  so  wise  and  salu 
tary  an  example,  took  counsel  together  on  the  expe 
diency  of  shipping  off  Oliver  Twist  in  some  small 
trailing  vessel  bound  to  a  good  unhealthy  port.  This 
suggested  itself  as  the  very  best  thing  that  could  pos 
sibly  be  done  with  him  ;  the  probability  being  that 
the  skipper  would  flog  him  to  death,  in  a  playful 
B 


mood,  some  day  after  dinner,  or  would  knock  his 
brains  out  with  an  iron  bar ;  both  pastimes  being,  as 
is  pretty  generally  known,  very  favorite  and  common 
recreations  among  gentlemen  of  that  class.  The 
more  the  case  presented  itself  to  the  board,  in  this 
point  of  view,  the  more  manifold  the  advantages  of 
the  step  appeared ;  so,  they  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  only  way  of  providing  for  Oliver  effectually, 
was  to  send  him  to  sea  without  delay. 

Mr.  Bumble  had  been  dispatched  to  make  various 
preliminary  inquiries,  Avith  the  view  of  finding  out 
some  captain  or  other  who  wanted  a  cabin-boy  with 
out  any  friends ;  and  was  returning  to  the  work 
house  to  communicate  the  result  of  his  mission ; 
when  he  encountered  at  the  gate  no  less  a  person 
than  Mr.  Sowerberry,  the  parochial  undertaker. 

Mr.  Sowerberry  was  a  tall,  gaunt,  large  -jointed 
man,  attired  in  a  suit  of  threadbare  black,  with  darned 
cotton  stockings  of  the  same  color,  and  shoes  to  an 
swer.  His  features  were  not  naturally  intended  to 
wear  a  smiling  aspect,  but  he  was  in  general  rather 
given  to  professional  jocosity.  His  step  was  elastic, 
and  his  face  betokened  inward  pleasantry,  as  he  ad 
vanced  to  Mr.  Bumble,  and  shook  him  cordially  by 
the  hand. 

"  I  have  taken  the  measure  of  the  two  women  that 
died  last  night,  Mr.  Bumble,"  said  the  undertaker. 

"  You'll  make  your  fortune,  Mr.  Sowerberry,"  said 
the  beadle,  as  he  thrust  his  thumb  and  forefinger 
into  the  proffered  snuff-box  of  the  undertaker :  which 
was  an  ingenious  little  model  of  a  patent  coffin.  "  I 
say  you'll  make  your  fortune,  Mr.  Sowerberry,"  re 
peated  Mr.  Bumble,  tapping  the  undertaker  on  the 
shoulder,  in  a  friendly  manner,  with  his  cane. 

"  Think  so  f '  said  the  undertaker,  in  a  tone  which 
half  admitted  and  half  disputed  the  probability  of 
the  event.  "The  prices  allowed  by  the  board  are 
very  small,  Mr.  Bumble." 

"  So  are  the  coffins,"  replied  the  beadle :  with  pre 
cisely  as  near  an  approach  to  a  laugh  as  a  great  offi 
cial  ought  to  indulge  in. 

Mr.  Sowerberry  was  much  tickled  at  this :  as  of 
course  he  ought  to  be ;  and  laughed  a  long  time 
without  cessation.  "Well,  well,  Mr.  Bumble,"  he 
said  at  length,  "  there's  no  denying  that,  since  the 
new  system  of  feeding  has  come  in,  the  coffins  are 
something  narrower  and  more  shallow  than  they 
used  to  be ;  but  we  must  have  some  profit,  Mr.  Bum 
ble.  Well-seasoned  timber  is  an  expensive  article, 
sir;  and  all  the  iron  handles  come,  by  canal,  from 
Birmingham." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  "  every  trade  has 
its  drawbacks.  A  fair  profit  is,  of  course,  allowable." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  the  undertaker ; 
"  and  if  I  don't  get  a  profit  upon  this  or  that  particu 
lar  article,  why,  I  make  it  up  in  the  long  run,  you 
see — he!  he!  he!" 

"  Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  Though  I  must  say,"  continued  the  undertaker, 
resuming  the  current  of  observations  which  the  bea 
dle  had  interrupted :  "  though  I  must  say,  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  that  I  have  to  contend  against  one  very  great 
disadvantage :  which  is,  that*all  the  stout  people  go 
off  the  quickest.  The  people  who  have  been  better 
off,  and  have  paid  rates  for  many  years,  arc  the  first 
to  sink  when  they  come  into  the  house ;  and  let  me 


18 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


tell  you,  Mr.  Bumble,  that  three  or  four  inches  over 
one's  calculation  makes  a  great  hole  in  one's  prof 
its  :  especially  when  one  has  a  family  to  provide  for, 
sir." 

As  Mr.  Sowerberry  said  this,  with  the  becoming  in 
dignation  of  an  ill-used  man ;  and  as  Mr.  Bumble  felt 
that  it  rather  tended  to  convey  a  reflection  on  the 
honor  of  the  parish ;  the  latter  gentleman  thought  it 
advisable  to  change  the  subject.  Oliver  Twist  being 
uppermost  in  his  mind,  he  made  him  his  theme. 

"  By-the-bye,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  "  you  don't  know 
any  body  who  wants  a  boy,  do  you  ?  A  porochial 
'prentis,  who  is  at  present  a  dead- weight ;  a  mill 
stone,  as  I  may  say;  round  the  porochial  throat? 
Liberal  terms,  Mr.  Sowerberry,  liberal  terms !"  As 


put  it  on,  I  remember,  for  the  first  time,  to  attend 
the  inquest  on  that  reduced  tradesman,  who  died  in  a 
door-way  at  midnight." 

"I  recollect,"  said  the  undertaker.  "The  jury 
brought  it  in,  '  Died  from  exposure  to  the  cold,  and 
want  of  the  common  necessaries  of  life,'  didn't  they  ?" 

Mr.  Bumble  nodded. 

"And  they  made  it  a  special  verdict,  I  think,"  said 
the  undertaker,  "  by  adding  some  words  to  the  effect 
that  if  the  relieving  officer  had — 

"  Tush !  Foolery !"  interposed  the  beadle.  "  If 
the  board  attended  to  all  the  nonsense  that  ignorant 
jurymen  talk,  they'd  have  enough  to  do." 

"Very  true,"  said  the  undertaker;  "they  would 
indeed." 


"  LIBERAL  TERMS,  MR.  8OWEHBERRY,  LIBERAL  TERMS  1" 


Mr.  Bumble  spoke,  he  raised  his  cane  to  the  bill  above 
him,  and  gave  three  distinct  raps  upon  the  words 
"  five  pounds ;"  which  were  printed  thereon  in  Eo- 
man  capitals  of  gigantic  size. 

"  Gadso !"  said  the  undertaker,  taking  Mr.  Bum 
ble  by  the  gilt-edged  lappel  of  his  official  coat; 
"  that's  just  the  very  thing  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you 
about.  You  know — dear  me,  what  a  very  elegant 
button  this  is,  Mr.  Bumble !  I  never  noticed  it  be 
fore." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  rather  pretty,"  said  the  beadle, 
glancing  proudly  downward  at  the  large  brass  but 
tons  which  embellished  his  coat.  "The  die  is  the 
same  as  the  porochial  seal — the  Good  Samaritan  heal 
ing  the  sick  and  bruised  man.  The  board  presented 
it  to  me  on  New-year's  morning,  Mr.  Sowerberry.  I 


"Juries,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  grasping  his  cane  tight 
ly,  as  was  his  wont  when  working  into  a  passion : 
"juries  is  ineddicated,  vulgar,  groveling  wretches." 

"  So  they  are,"  said  the  undertaker. 

"They  haven't  no  more  philosophy  nor  political 
economy  about  'em  than  that,"  said  the  beadle,  snap 
ping  his  fingers  contemptuously. 

"  No  more  they  have,"  acquiesced  the  undertaker. 

"  I  despise  'em,"  said  the  beadle,  growing  very  red 
in  the  face. 

"  So  do  I,"  rejoined  the  undertaker. 

"And  I  only  wish  we'd  a  jury  of  the  independent 
sort  in  the  house  for  a  week  or  two,"  said  the  beadle ; 
"  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  board  would  soon 
bring  their  spirit  down  for  'em." 

"  Let  'em  alone  for  that,"  replied  the  undertaker. 


ANOTHER  PLACE   OFFERS. 


lit 


So  saying,  he  smiled  approvingly,  to  calm  the  rising 
wrath  of  the  indignant  parish  officer. 

Mr.  Bumble  lifted  off  his  cocked  hat ;  took  a  hand 
kerchief  from  the  inside  of  the  crown ;  wiped  from 
his  forehead  the  perspiration  which  his  rage  had  en 
gendered  ;  fixed  the  cocked  hat  on  again ;  and,  turn 
ing  to  the  undertaker,  said,  in  a  calmer  voice : 

"  Well ;  what  about  the  boy  ?" 

"  Oh !"  replied  the  undertaker ;  "  why,  you  know, 
Mr.  Bumble,  I  pay  a  good  deal  toward  the  poor's 
rates." 

"  Hem !"  said  Mr.  Bumble.     "  Well  ?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  undertaker,  "I  was  thinking 
that  if  I  pay  so  much  toward  'em,  I've  a  right  to  get 
as  much  out  of  'em  as  I  can,  Mr.  Bumble  ;  and  so — 
and  so — I  think  I'll  take  the  boy  myself." 

Mr.  Bumble  grasped  the  undertaker  by  the  arm, 
and  led  him  into  the  building.  Mr.  Sowerberry  was 
closeted  with  the  board  for  five  minutes,  and  it  was 
arranged  that  Oliver  should  go  to  him  that  evening 
"  upon  liking  " — a  phrase  which  means,  in  the  case 
of  a  parish  apprentice,  that  if  the  master  find,  upon 
a  short  trial,  that  he  can  get  enough  work  out  of  a 
boy  without  putting  too  much  food  into  him,  he  shall 
have  him  for  a  term  of  years,  to  do  what  he  likes  with. 

When  little  Oliver  was  taken  before  "  the  gentle 
men  "  that  evening ;  and  informed  that  he  was  to  go, 
that  night,  as  general  house-lad  to  a  coffin-maker's ; 
and  that  if  he  complained  of  his  situation,  or  ever 
came  back  to  the  parish  again,  he  would  be  sent  to 
sea,  there  to  be  drowned,  or  knocked  on  the  head,  as 
the  case  might  be,  he  evinced  so  little  emotion,  that 
they  by  common  consent  pronounced  him  a  hardened 
young  rascal,  and  ordered  Mr.  Bumble  to  remove  him 
forthwith. 

Now,  although  it  was  very  natural  that  the  board, 
of  all  people  in  the  world,  should  feel  in  a  great  state 
of  virtuous  astonishment  and  horror  at  the  smallest 
tokens  of  want  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  any  body, 
they  were  rather  out,  in  this  particular  instance. 
The  simple  fact  was,  that  Oliver,  instead  of  possess 
ing  too  little  feeling,  possessed  rather  too  much ;  and 
was  in  a  fair  way  of  being  reduced,  for  life,  to  a  state 
of  brutal  stupidity  and  sullenness  by  the  ill-usage  he 
had  received.  He  heard  the  news  of  his  destination 
in  perfect  silence ;  and,  having  had  his  luggage  put 
into  his  hand — which  was  not  very  difficult  to  carry, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  all  comprised  within  the  limits 
of  a  brown  paper  parcel,  about  half  a  foot  square  by 
three  inches  deep — he  pulled  his  cap  over  his  eyes ; 
and  once  more  attaching  himself  to  Mr.  Bumble's  coat 
cuff,  was  led  away  by  that  dignitary  to  a  new  scene  of 
suffering. 

For  some  time,  Mr.  Bumble  drew  Oliver  along, 
without  notice  or  remark ;  for  the  beadle  carried  his 
head  very  erect,  as  a  beadle  always  should :  and,  it 
being  a  windy  day,  little  Oliver  was  completely  en 
shrouded  by  the  skirts  of  Mr.  Bumble's  coat  as  they 
blew  open,  and  disclosed  to  great  advantage  his  flap 
ped  waistcoat  and  drab  plush  knee-breeches.  As 
they  drew  near  to  their  destination,  however,  Mr. 
Bumble  thought  it  expedient  to  look  down,  and  see 
that  the  boy  was  in  good  order  for  inspection  by  his 
new  master :  which  he  accordingly  did,  with  a  tit  and 
becoming  air  of  gracious  patronage. 

"  Oliver!"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 


"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice. 

"Pull  that  cap  off  your  eyes,  and  hold  up  your 
head,  sir." 

Although  Oliver  did  as  he  was  desired,  at  once, 
and  passed  the  back  of  his  unoccupied  hand  briskly 
across  his  eyes,  he  left  a  tear  in  them  when  he  looked 
up  at  his  conductor.  As  Mr.  Bumble  gazed  sternly 
upon  him,  it  rolled  down  his  cheek.  It  was  followed 
by  another,  and  another.  The  child  made  a  strong 
effort,  but  it  was  an  unsuccessful  one.  Withdrawing 
his  other  hand  from  Mr.  Bumble's,  he  covered  his  face 
with  both ;  and  wept  until  the  tears  sprung  out  from 
between  his  chin  and  bony  fingers. 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bumble,  stopping  short, 
and  darting  at  his  little  charge  a  look  of  intense 
malignity.  "  Well !  Of  all  the  ungratefullest,  and 
worst  -  disposed  boys  as  ever  I  see,  Oliver,  you  are 
the—" 

"  No,  no,  sir,"  sobbed  Oliver,  clinging  to  the  hand 
which  held  the  well-known  cane ;  "  no,  no,  sir ;  I  will 
be  good  indeed ;  indeed,  indeed  I  will,  sir !  I  am  a 
very  little  boy,  sir ;  and  it  is  so — so — : 

"  So  what  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Bumble,  in  amazement. 

"  So  lonely,  sir !  So  very  lonely !"  cried  the  child. 
"  Every  body  hates  me.  Oh !  sir,  don't,  don't,  pray, 
be  cross  to  me !"  The  child  beat  his  hand  upon  his 
heart ;  and  looked  in  his  companion's  face,  with  tears 
of  real  agony. 

Mr.  Bumble  regarded  Oliver's  piteous  and  helpless 
look,  with  some  astonishment,  for  a  few  seconds ; 
hemmed  three  or  four  times  in  a  husky  manner ;  and 
after  muttering  something  about  "  that  troublesome 
cough,"  bade  Oliver  dry  his  eyes  and  be  a  good  boy. 
Then  once  more  taking  his  hand,  he  walked  on  with 
him  in  silence. 

The  undertaker,  who  had  just  put  up  the  shutters 
of  his  shop,  was  making  some  entries  in  his  day-book 
by  the  light  of  a  most  appropriate  dismal  candle, 
when  Mr.  Bumble  entered. 

"Aha!"  said  the  undertaker:  looking  up  from  the 
book,  and  pausing  in  the  middle  of  a  word ;  "  is  that 
you,  Bumble  ?" 

"  No  one  else,  Mr.  Sowerberry,"  replied  the  beadle. 
*  Here !  I've  brought  the  boy."  Oliver  made  a  bow. 

"  Oh !  that's  the  boy,  is  it  ?"  said  the  undertaker, 
raising  the  candle  above  his  head,  to  get  a  better 
view  of  Oliver.  "  Mrs.  Sowerberry,  will  yon  have 
the  goodness  to  come  here  a  moment,  my  dear  ?" 

Mrs.  Sowerberry  emerged  from  a  little  room  be 
hind  the  shop,  and  presented  the  form  of  a  short, 
thin,  squeezed -up  woman,  with  a  Arixeuish  counte 
nance. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Sowerberry,  deferentially, 
"  this  is  the  boy  from  the  work-house  that  I  told  you 
of."  Oliver  bowed  again. 

"  Dear  me !"  said  the  undertaker's  wife,  "  he's  very 
small." 

"  Why,  he  is  rather  small,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble : 
looking  at  Oliver  as  if  it  were  his  fault  that  he  was 
no  bigger ;  "  he  is  small.  There's  no  denying  it.  But 
he'll  grow,  Mrs.  Sowerberry — he'll  grow." 

"Ah!  I  dare  say  he  will,"  replied  the  lady  pettish 
ly,  "  on  our  victuals  and  our  drink.  I  see  no  saving 
in  parish  children,  not  I ;  for  they  always  cost  more 
to  keep  than  they're  worth.  However,  men  always 
think  they  know  best.  There !  Get  down  stairs,  lit- 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


tie  bag  o'  bones."  With  this,  the  undertaker's  wife 
opened  a  side  door,  and  pushed  Oliver  down  a  steep 
flight  of  stairs  into  a  stone  cell,  damp  and  dark : 
forming  the  ante -room  to  the  coal -cellar,  and  de 
nominated  "kitchen:"  wherein  sat  a  slatternly  girl, 
in  shoes  down  at  heel,  and  blue  worsted  stockings 
very  much  out  of  repair. 

"  Here,  Charlotte,"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry,  who  had 
followed  Oliver  down,  "give  this  boy  some  of  the 
cold  bits  that  were  put  by  for  Trip.  He  hasn't  come 
home  since  the  morning,  so  he  may  go  without  'em. 
I  dare  say  the  boy  isn't  too  dainty  to  eat  'em  —  are 
you,  boy  ?" 

Oliver,  whose  eyea  had  glistened  at  the  mention 
of  meat,  and  who  was  trembling  with  eagerness  to 
devour  it,  replied  in  the  negative ;  and  a  plateful  of 
coarse  broken  victuals  was  set  before  him. 

I  wish  some  well-fed  philosopher,  whose  meat  and 
drink  turn  to  gall  within  him — whose  blood  is  ice, 
whose  heart  is  iron — could  have  seen  Oliver  Twist 
clutching  at  the  dainty  viands  that  the  dog  had  neg 
lected.  I  wish  he  could  have  witnessed  the  horrible 
avidity  with  which  Oliver  tore  the  bits  asunder  with 
all  the  ferocity  of  famine.  There  is  only  one  thing 
I  should  like  better ;  and  that  would  be  to  see  the 
Philosopher  making  the  same  sort  of  meal  himself, 
with  the  same  relish. 

"  Well,"  said  the  undertaker's  wife,  when  Oliver 
had  finished  his  supper :  which  she  had  regarded  in 
silent  horror,  and  with  fearful  auguries  of  his  future 
appetite :  "  have  you  done  ?" 

There  being  nothing  eatable  within  his  reach,  Oli 
ver  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then  come  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry :  tak 
ing  up  a  dim  and  dirty  lamp,  and  leading  the  way 
up  stairs ;  "  your  bed's  under  the  counter.  You  don't 
mind  sleeping  among  the  coffins,  I  suppose  ?  But  it 
doesn't  much  matter  whether  you  do  or  don't,  for  you 
can't  sleep  anywhere  else.  Come,  don't  keep  me  here 
all  night !" 

Oliver  lingered  no  longer,  but  meekly  followed  his 
new  mistress. 


CHAPTEE  V.    . 

OLIVER  MINGLES  WITH  NEW  ASSOCIATES.  GOING  TO  A 
FUNERAL  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME,  HE  FORMS  AN  UNFA 
VORABLE  NOTION  OF  HIS  MASTER'S  BUSINESS. 

k  LIVER,  being  left  to  himself  in  the  undertaker's 
shop,  set  the  lamp  down  on  a  workman's  bench, 
and  gazed  timidly  about  him  with  a  feeling  of  awe 
and  dread,  which  many  people  a  good  deal  older  than 
he  will  be  at  no  loss  to  understand.  An  unfinished 
coffin  on  black  tressels,  which  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  shop,  looked  so  gloomy  and  death-like  that  a 
cold  tremble  came  over  him  every  time  his  eyes  wan 
dered  in  the  direction  of  the  dismal  object :  from 
which  he  almost  expected  to  see  some  frightful  form 
slowly  rear  its  head,  to  drive  him  mad  with  terror. 
Against  the  wall  were  ranged,  in  regular  array,  a 
long  row  of  elm  boards  cut  into  the  same  shape : 
looking  in  the  dim  light,  like  high-shouldered  ghosts 
with  their  hands  in  their  breeches-pockets.  Coffin- 
plates,  elm-chips,  bright-headed  nails,  and  shreds  of 
black  cloth,  lay  scattered  on  the  floor ;  and  the  wall 


behind  the  counter  was  ornamented  with  a  lively 
representation  of  two  mutes  in  very  stiff  neckcloths, 
on  duty  at  a  large  private  door,  with  a  hearse  drawn 
by  four  black  steeds,  approaching  in  the  distance. 
The  shop  was  close  and  hot.  The  atmosphere  seemed 
tainted  with  the  smell  of  coffins.  The  recess  beneath 
the  counter  in  which  his  flock  mattress  was  thrust, 
looked  like  a  grave. 

Nor  Avere  these  the  only  dismal  feelings  which  de 
pressed  Oliver.  Ho  was  alone  in  a  strange  place ; 
and  we  all  know  how  chilled  and  desolate  the  best 
of  us  will  sometimes  feel  in  such  a  situation.  The 
boy  had  no  friends  to  care  for,  or  to  care  for  him. 
The  regret  of  no  recent  separation  was  fresh  in  his 
mind ;  the  absence  of  no  loved  and  well-remembered 
face  sank  heavily  into  his  heart.  But  his  heart  was 
heavy,  notwithstanding  ;  and  he  wished,  as  he  crept 
into  his  narrow  bed,  that  that  were  his  coffin,  and 
that  he  could  be  lain  in  a  calm  and  lasting  sleep  in 
the  church-yard  ground,  with  the  tall  grass  waving 
gently  above  his  head,  and  the  sound  of  the  old  deep 
bell  to  soothe  him  in  his  sleep. 

Oliver  was  awakened  in  the  morning,  by  a  loud 
kicking  at  the  outside  of  the  shop-door :  which,  be 
fore  he  could  huddle  on  his  clothes,  was  repeated,  in 
an  angry  and  impetuous  manner,  about  twenty-five 
times.  When  he  began  to  undo  the  chain,  the  legs 
desisted,  and  a  voice  began. 

"  Open  the  door,  will  yer  ?"  cried  the  voice  which 
belonged  to  the  legs  which  had  kicked  at  the  door. 

"  I  will,  directly,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  undoing  the 
chain,  and  turning  the  key. 

"  I  suppose  yer  the  new  boy,  ain't  yer  ?"  said  the 
voice  through  the  key-hole. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  How  old  are  yer  ?"  inquired  the  voice. 

"  Ten,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Then  I'll  whop  yer  when  I  get  in,"  said  the  voice ; 
"  you  just  see  if  I  don't,  that's  all,  my  work'us  brat !" 
and  having  made  this  obliging  promise,  the  voice 
began  to  whistle. 

Oliver  had  been  too  often  subjected  to  the  proc 
ess  to  which  the  very  expressive  monosyllable  just 
recorded  bears  reference,  to  entertain  the  smallest 
doubt  that  the  owner  of  the  voice,  whoever  he  might 
be,  would  redeem  his  pledge,  most  honorably.  He 
drew  back  the  bolts  with  a  trembling  hand,  and 
opened  the  door. 

For  a  second  or  two,  Oliver  glanced  up  the  street, 
and  down  the  street,  and  over  the  way :  impressed 
with  the  belief  that  the  unknown,  who  had  addressed 
him  through  the  key-hole,  had  walked  a  few  paces 
off,  to  warm  himself;  for  nobody  did  he  see  but  a  big 
charity-boy,  sitting  on  a  post  in  front  of  the  house, 
eating  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter :  which  he  cut  into 
wedges,  the  size  of  his  mouth,  with  a  clasp-knife,  and 
then  consumed  with  great  dexterity. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Oliver  at  length : 
seeing  that  no  other  visitor  made  his  appearance; 
"  did  you  knock  f ' 

"  I  kicked,"  replied  the  charity-boy. 

"  Did  you  want  a  coffin,  sir  f '  inquired  Oliver,  in 
nocently. 

At  this  the  charity-boy  looked  monstrous  fierce ; 
and  said  that  Oliver  would  want  one  before  long,  if 
he  cut  jokes  with  his  superiors  in  that  way. 


NEW  IDEA   IN  THE    UNDERTAKING    WAY. 


"  Yer  don't  know  who  I  am,  I  suppose,  Work'us?" 
said  the  charity-boy,  iii  continuation :  descending 
from  the  top  of  the  post,  meanwhile,  with  edifying- 
gravity. 

"  No,  sir,"  rejoined  Oliver. 

"  I'm  Mister  Noah  Claypole,"  said  the  charity-boy, 
"  and  you're  under  me.  Take  down  the  shutters,  yer 
idle  young  ruffian  !"  With  this,  Mr.  Claypole  admin 
istered  a  kick  to  Oliver,  and  entered  the  shop  with  a 
dignified  air,  which  did  him  great  credit.  It  is  diffi 
cult  for  a  large-headed,  small-eyed  yonth,  of  lumber 
ing  make  and  heavy  countenance,  to  look  dignified 
under  any  circumstances ;  but  it  is  more  especially 
so,  when  superadded  to  these  personal  attractions 
are  a  red  nose  and  yellow  smalls. 

Oliver,  having  taken  down  the  shutters,  and  broken 
a  pane  of  glass  in  his  efforts  to  stagger  away  beneath 
the  weight  of  the  first  one  to  a  small  court  at  the 
side  of  the  house  in  which  they  were  kept  during  the 
day,  was  graciously  assisted  by  Noah :  who  having 
consoled  him  with  the  assurance  that  "  he'd  catch  it," 
condescended  to  help  him.  Mr.  Sowerberry  came 
down  soon  after.  Shortly  afterward,  Mrs.  Sowerber 
ry  appeared.  Oliver  having  "  caught  it,"  in  fulfill 
ment  of  Noah's  prediction,  followed  that  young  gen 
tleman  down  the  stairs  to  breakfast. 

"  Come  near  the  fire,  Noah,"  said  Charlotte.  "  I 
saved  a  nice  little  bit  of  bacon  for  you  from  master's 
breakfast.  Oliver,  shut  that  door  at  Mister  Noah's 
back,  and  take  them  bits  that  I've  put  out  on  the 
cover  of  the  bread-pan.  There's  your  tea ;  take  it 
away  to  that  box,  and  drink  it  there,  and  make  haste, 
for  they'll  want  you  to  mind  the  shop.  D'ye  hear  ?" 

"  D'ye  hear,  Work'us  ?"  said  Noah  Claypole. 

"  Lor,  Noah !"  said  Charlotte, "  what  a  rum  creature 
you  are !  Why  don't  you  let  the  boy  alone  ?" 

"  Let  him  alone !"  said  Noah.  "  Why  every  body 
lets  him  alone  enough,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Nei 
ther  his  father  nor  his  mother  will  ever  interfere  with 
him.  All  his  relations  let  him  have  his  own  way 
pretty  well.  Eh,  Charlotte  ?  He !  he !  he !" 

"  Oh,  you  queer  soul !"  said  Charlotte,  bursting  into 
a  hearty  laugh,  in  which  she  was  joined  by  Noah ; 
after  which  they  both  looked  scornfully  at  poor  Oli 
ver  Twist,  as  he  sat  shivering  on  the  box  in  the  cold 
est  corner  of  the  room,  and  ate  the  stale  pieces  which 
had  been  specially  reserved  for  him. 

Noah  was  a  charity-boy,  but  not  a  work-house  or 
phan.  No  chance  child  was  he,  for  he  could  trace 
his  genealogy  all  the  way  back  to  his  parents,  who 
lived  hard  by;  his  mother  being  a  washer-woman, 
and  his  father  a  drunken  soldier,  discharged  with  a 
wooden  leg,  and  a  diurnal  pension  of  twopence-half 
penny  and  an  unstateable  fraction.  The  shop-boys 
in  the  neighborhood  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of 
branding  Noah,  in  the  public  streets,  with  the  igno 
minious  epithets  of  "  leathers,"  "  charity,"  and  the 
like  ;  and  Noah  had  borne  them  without  reply.  But, 
now  that  fortune  had  cast  in  his  way  a  nameless  or 
phan,  at  whom  even  the  meanest  could  point  the  fin 
ger  of  scorn,  he  retorted  on  him  with  interest.  This 
affords  charming  food  for  contemplation.  It  shows 
us  what  a  beautiful  thing  human  nature  may  be  made 
to  be ;  and  how  impartially  the  same  amiable  quali 
ties  are  developed  in  the  finest  lord  and  the  dirtiest 
charity-boy. 


Oliver  had  been  sojourning  at  the  undertaker's 
some  three  weeks  or  a  month.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sower- 
berry — the  shop  being  shut  up — were  taking  their 
supper  in  the  little  back-parlor,  when  Mr.  Sowerber 
ry,  after  several  deferential  glances  at  his  wife,  said, 

"  My  dear— :  He  was  going  to  say  more  ;  but, 
Mrs.  Sowerberry  looking  up,  with  a  peculiar  unpro- 
pitious  aspect,  he  stopped  short. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry,  sharply. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear,  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Sowerberry. 

"  Ugh,  you  brute  !"4said  Mrs.  Sowerberry. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Sowerberry,  hum 
bly.  "  I  thought  you  didn't  want  to  hear,  my  dear. 
I  was  only  going  to  say — 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  what  you  were  going  to  say," 
interposed  Mrs.  Sowerberry.  "  I  am  nobody  ;  don't 
consult  me,  pray.  /  don't  want  to  intrude  upon  your 
secrets."  As  Mrs.  Sowerberry  said  this,  she  gave 
an  hysterical  laugh,  which  threatened  violent  conse 
quences. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Sowerberry,  "  I  want  to  ask 
your  advice." 

"  No,  no,  don't  ask  mine,"  replied  Mrs.  Sowerber 
ry,  in  an  aifecting  manner :  "  ask  somebody  else's." 
Here  there  was  another  hysterical  laugh,  which 
frightened  Mr.  Sowerberry  very  much.  This  is  a 
very  common  and  much-approved  matrimonial  course 
of  treatment,  which  is  often  very  effective.  It  at 
once  reduced  Mr.  Sowerberry  to  begging,  as  a  spe 
cial  favor,  to  be  allowed  to  say  what  Mrs.  Sowerberry 
was  most  curious  to  hear.  After  a  short  altercation 
of  less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour's  duration,  the 
permission  was  most  graciously  conceded. 

"  It's  only  about  young  Twist,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Sowerberry.  "A  very  good-looking  boy,  that,  my 
dear." 

"  He  need  be,  for  he  eats  enough,"  observed  the 
lady. 

"  There's  an  expression  of  melancholy  in  his  face, 
my  dear,"  resumed  Mr.  Sowerberry,  "  which  is  very 
interesting.  He  would  make  a  delightful  mute,  my 
love." 

Mrs.  Sowerberry  looked  up  with  an  expression  of 
considerable  wonderment.  Mr.  Sowerberry  remark 
ed  it ;  and,  without  allowing  time  for  any  observa 
tion  on  the  good  lady's  part,  proceeded. 

"  I  don't  mean  a  regular  mute  to  attend  grown-up 
people,  my  dear,  but  only  for  children's  practice.  It 
would  be  very  new  to  have  a  mute  in  proportion,  my 
dear.  You  may  depend  upon  it,  it  would  have  a  su 
perb  effect." 

Mrs.  Sowerberry,  who  had  a  good  deal  of  taste  in 
the  undertaking  way,  was  much  struck  by  the  nov 
elty  of  this  idea ;  but,  as  it  would  have  been  com 
promising  her  dignity  to  have  said  so,  under  existing 
circumstances,  she  merely  inquired,  with  much  sharp 
ness,  why  such  an  obvious  suggestion  had  not  pre 
sented  itself  to  her  husband's  mind  before  ?  Mr. 
Sowerberry  rightly  construed  this  as  an  acquies 
cence  in  his  proposition ;  it  was  speedily  determined, 
therefore,  that  Oliver  should  be  at  once  initial r< I 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  trade ;  and,  with  this  view, 
that  he  should  accompany  his  master  on  the  very 
next  occasion  of  his  services  being  required. 

The  occasion  was  not  long  in  coining.  Half  an 
hour  after  breakfast  next  morning,  Mr.  Bumble  en- 


OLIVES   TWIST. 


tered  the  shop ;  and  supporting  his  cane  against  the 
counter,  drew  forth  his  large  leathern  pocket-book : 
from  which  he  selected  a  small  scrap  of  paper,  which 
he  handed  over  to  Sowerberry. 

"  Aha,"  said  the  undertaker,  glancing  over  it  with 
a  lively  countenance ;  "  an  order  for  a  coffin,  eh  ?" 

"For  a  coffin  first,  and  a  porochial  funeral  after 
ward,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble,  fastening  the  strap  of 
the  leathern  pocket-book,  which,  like  himself,  was 
very  corpulent. 

"  Bayton,"  said  the  undertaker,  looking  from  the 
scrap  of  paper  to  Mr.  Bumble.  "  I  never  heard  the 
name  before." 

Bumble  shook  his  head,  as  he  replied,  "  Obstinate 
people,  Mr.  Sowerberry ;  very  obstinate.  Proud,  too, 
I'm  afraid,  sir." 

"  Proud,  eh  ?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sowerberry,  with  a 
sneer.  "  Come,  that's  too  much." 

"Oh,  it's  sickening,"  replied  the  beadle.  "Anti- 
monial,  Mr.  Sowerberry !" 

"  So  it  is,"  acquiesced  the  undertaker. 

"We  only  heard  of  the  family  the  night  before 
last,"  said  the  beadle;  "and  we  shouldn't  have 
known  any  thing  about  them,  then,  only  a  woman 
who  lodges  in  the  same  house  made  an  application 
to  the  porochial  committee  for  them  to  send  the  po 
rochial  surgeon  to  see  a  woman  as  was  very  bad. 
He  had  gone  out  to  dinner ;  but  his  'prentice  (which 
is  a  very  clever  lad)  sent  'em  some  medicine  in  a 
blacking-bottle,  off-hand." 

"Ah,  there's  promptness,"  said  the  undertaker. 

"  Promptness,  indeed !"  replied  the  beadle.  "  But 
what's  the  consequence ;  what's  the  ungrateful  be 
havior  of  these  rebels,  sir  ?  Why,  the  husband  sends 
back  word  that  the  medicine  won't  suit  his  wife's 
complaint,  and  so  she  sha'n't  take  it — says  she  sha'n't 
take  it,  sir.  Good,  strong,  wholesome  medicine,  as 
was  given  with  great  success  to  two  Irish  laborers 
and  a  coal-heaver  only  a  week  before — sent  'em  for 
nothing,  with  a  blacking-bottle  in  —  and  he  sends 
back  word  that  she  sha'n't  take  it,  sir !" 

As  the  atrocity  presented  itself  to  Mr.  Bumble's 
mind  in  full  force,  he  struck  the  counter  sharply 
with  his  cane,  and  became  flushed  with  indignation. 

"  Well,"  said  the  undertaker,  "  I  ne — ver— -did — " 

"  Never  did,  sir !"  ejaculated  the  beadle.  "  No,  nor 
nobody  never  did ;  but,  now  she's  dead,  we've  got  to 
bury  her ;  and  that's  the  direction ;  and  the  sooner 
it's  done,  the  better." 

Thus  saying,  Mr.  Bumble  put  on  his  cocked  hat 
wrong  side  first,  in  a  fever  of  parochial  excitement ; 
and  flounced  out  of  the  shop. 

"  Why,  he  was  so  angry,  Oliver,  that  he  forgot 
even  to  ask  after  you !"  said  Mr.  Sowerberry,  looking 
after  the  beadle  as  he  strode  down  the  street. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  who  had  carefully  kept 
himself  out  of  sight  during  the  interview ;  and  who 
was  shaking  from  head  to  foot  at  the  mere  recollec 
tion  of  the  sound  of  Mr.  Bumble's  voice.  He  needn't 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  shrink  from  Mr.  Bumble's 
glance,  however ;  for  that  functionary,  on  whom  the 
prediction  of  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat 
had  made  a  very  strong  impression,  thought  that 
now  the  undertaker  had  got  Oliver  upon  trial  the 
subject  was  better  avoided,  until  such  time  as  he 
•should  be  firmly  bound  for  seven  years,  and  all  dan 


ger  of  his  being  returned  upon  the  hands  of  the  par 
ish  should  be  thus  effectually  and  legally  overcome. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Sowerberry,  taking  up  his  hat, 
"  the  sooner  this  job  is  done,  the  better.  Noah,  look 
after  the  shop.  Oliver,  put  on  your  cap  and  come 
with  me."  Oliver  obeyed,  and  followed  his  master 
on  his  professional  mission. 

They  walked  on  for  some  time  through  the  most 
crowded  and  densely  inhabited  part  of  the  town ; 
and  then,  striking  down  a  narrow  street  more  dirty 
and  miserable  than  any  they  had  yet  passed  through, 
paused  to  look  for  the  house  which  was  the  object 
of  their  search.  The  houses  on  either  side  were  high 
and  large,  but  very  old,  and  tenanted  by  people  of 
the  poorest  class :  as  their  neglected  appearance 
would  have  sufficiently  denoted,  without  the  concur 
rent  testimony  afforded  by  the  squalid  looks  of  the 
few  men  and  women  who,  with  folded  arms  and  bod 
ies  half  doubled,  occasionally  skulked  along.  A  great 
many  of  the  tenements  had  shop-fronts ;  but  these 
were  fast  closed,  and  mouldering  away;  only  the 
upper  rooms  being  inhabited.  Some  houses,  which 
had  become  insecure  from  age  and  decay,  were  pre 
vented  from  falling  into  the  street  by  huge  beams 
of  wood  reared  against  the  walls,  and  firmly  plant 
ed  in  the  road;  but  even  these  crazy  dens  seemed 
to  have  been  selected  as  the  nightly  haunts  of  some 
houseless  wretches,  for  many  of  the  rough  boards 
which  supplied  the  place  of  door  and  window  were 
wrenched  from  their  positions,  to  afford  an  aperture 
wide  enough  for  the  passage  of  a  human  body.  The 
kennel  was  stagnant  and  filthy.  The  very  rats, 
which  here  and  there  lay  putrefying  in  its  rotten 
ness,  were  hideous  with  famine. 

There  was  neither  knocker  nor  bell-handle  at  the 
open  door  where  Oliver  and  his  master  stopped  ;  so, 
groping  his  way  cautiously  through  the  dark  pas 
sage,  and  bidding  Oliver  keep  close  to  him  and  not 
be  afraid,  the  undertaker  mounted  to  the  top  of  the 
first  flight  of  stairs.  Stumbling  against  a  door  on 
the  landing,  he  rapped  at  it  with  his  knuckles. 

It  was  opened  by  a  young  girl  of  thirteen  or  four 
teen.  The  undertaker  at  once  saw  enough  of  what 
the  room  contained,  to  know  it  was  the  apartment 
to  which  he  had  been  directed.  He  stepped  in ;  Ol 
iver  followed  him. 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  room;  but  a  man  was 
crouching,  mechanically,  over  the  empty  stove.  An 
old  woman,  too,  had  drawn  a  low  stool  to  the  cold 
hearth,  and  was  sitting  beside  him.  There  were 
some  ragged  children  in  another  corner;  and  in  a 
small  recess,  opposite  the  door,  there  lay  upon  the 
ground  something  covered  with  an  old  blanket.  Ol 
iver  shuddered  as  he  cast  his  eyes  toward  the  place, 
and  crept  involuntarily  closer  to  his  master;  for 
though  it  was  covered  up,  the  boy  felt  that  it  was  a 
corpse. 

The  man's  face  was  thin  and  very  pale ;  his  hair 
and  beard  were  grizzly;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot. 
The  old  woman's  face  was  wrinkled ;  her  two  remain 
ing  teeth  protruded  over  her  under  lip ;  and  her  eyes 
were  bright  and  piercing.  Oliver  was  afraid  to  look 
at  either  her  or  the  man.  They  seemed  so  like  the 
rats  he  had  seen  outside. 

"  Nobody  shall  go  near  her,"  said  the  man,  start 
ing  fiercely  up,  as  the  undertaker  approached  the  re- 


THANKLESS  PAUPERISM, 


23 


cess.  "Keep  back!  Damn  you,  keep  back,  if  you've 
a  life  to  lose !" 

"Nonsense,  my  good  man,"  said  the  undertaker, 
who  was  pretty  well  used  to  misery  in  all  its  shapes. 
"  Nonsense !" 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  the  man,  clenching  his  hands, 
and  stamping  furiously  on  the  floor — "  I  tell  you  I 
won't  have  her  put  into  the  ground.  She  couldn't 
rest  there.  The  worms  would  worry  her — not  eat 
her — she  is  so  worn  away." 

The  undertaker  offered  no  reply  to  this  raving; 
but  producing  a  tape  from  his  pocket,  knelt  down 
for  a  moment  by  the  side  of  the  body. 

"Ah !"  said  the  man :  bursting  into  tears,  and  sink 
ing  on  his  knees  at  the  feet  of  the  dead  woman ; 
"  kneel  down,  kneel  down — kneel  round  her,  every 
one  of  you,  and  mark  my  words !  I  say  she  was 
starved  to  death.  I  never  knew  how  bad  she  was, 
till  the  fever  came  upon  her;  and  then  her  bones 
were  starting  through  the  skin.  There  was  neither 
fire  nor  candle ;  she  died  in  the  dark — in  the  dark ! 
She  couldn't  even  see  her  children's  faces,  though  we 
heard  her  gasping  out  their  names.  I  begged  for  her 
in  the  streets ;  and  they  sent  me  to  prison.  When  I 
came  back,  she  was  dying ;  and  all  the  blood  in  my 
heart  has  dried  up,  for  they  starved  her  to  death.  I 
swear  it  before  the  God  that  saw  it !  They  starved 
her !"  He  twined  his  hands  in  his  hair ;  and,  with  a 
loud  scream,  rolled  groveling  upon  the  floor :  his  eyes 
fixed,  and  the  foam  covering  his  lips. 

The  terrified  children  cried  bitterly ;  but  the  old 
woman,  who  had  hitherto  remained  as  quiet  as  if  she 
had  been  wholly  deaf  to  all  that  passed,  menaced 
them  into  silence.  Having  unloosed  the  cravat  of 
the  man  who  still  remained  extended  on  the  ground, 
she  tottered  toward  the  undertaker. 

"  She  was  my  daughter,"  said  the  old  woman,  nod 
ding  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  corpse,  and 
speaking  with  an  idiotic  leer,  more  ghastly  than  even 
the  presence  of  death  in  snch  a  place.  "  Lord,  Lord ! 
Well,  it  is  strange  that  I  who  gave  birth  to  her,  and 
was  a  woman  then,  should  be  alive  and  merry  now, 
and  she  lying  there :  so  cold  and  stiff!  Lord,  Lord ! 
— to  think  of  it ;  it's  as  good  as  a  play — as  good  as  a 
play!" 

As  the  wretched  creature  mumbled  and  chuckled 
in  her  hideous  merriment,  the  undertaker  turned  to 
go  away. 

"  Stop,  stop !"  said  the  old  woman  in  a  loud  whis 
per.  "  Will  she  be  buried  to-morrow,  or  next  day, 
or  to-night  ?  I  laid  her  out ;  and  I  must  walk,  you 
know.  Send  me  a  large  cloak :  a  good  warm  one : 
for  it  is  bitter  cold.  We  should  have  cake  and  wine, 
too,  before  we  go !  Never  mind ;  send  some  bread — 
only  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  cup  of  water.  Shall  we 
have  some  bread,  dear  ?"  she  said  eagerly,  catching 
at  the  undertaker's  coat,  as  he  once  more  moved  to 
ward  the  door. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  undertaker,  "  of  course.  Any 
thing  you  like !"  He  disengaged  himself  from  the  old 
woman's  grasp ;  and,  drawing  Oliver  after  him,  hur 
ried  away. 

The  next  day  (the  family  having  been  meanwhile 
relieved  with  a  half-quartern  loaf  and  a  piece  of 
cheese,  left  with  them  by  Mr.  Bumble  himself),  Oli 
ver  and  his  master  returned  to  the  miserable  abode ; 


where  Mr.  Bumble  had  already  arrived,  accompanied 
by  four  men  from  the  work-house,  who  were  to  act  as 
bearers.  An  old  black  cloak  had  been  thrown  over 
the  rags  of  the  old  woman  and  the  man ;  and  the  bare 
coffin  having  been  screwed  down,  was  hoisted  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  bearers,  and  carried  into  the  street. 

"  Now  you  must  put  your  best  leg  foremost,  old 
lady !"  whispered  Sowerberry  in  the  old  woman's  ear ; 
"wTe  are  rather  late;  and  it  won't  do  to  keep  the 
clergyman  waiting.  Move  on,  my  men — as  quick 
as  you  like !" 

Thus  directed,  the  bearers  trotted  on  under  their 
light  burden;  and  the  two  mourners  kept  as  near 
them  as  they  could.  Mr.  Bumble  and  Sowerberry 
walked  at  a  good  smart  pace  in  front ;  and  Oliver, 
whose  legs  were  not  so  long  as  his  master's,  ran  by 
the  side. 

There  was  not  so  great  a  necessity  for  hurrying  as 
Mr.  Sowerberry  had  anticipated,  however ;  for  when 
they  reached  the  obscure  corner  of  the  church-yard  in 
which  the  nettles  grew,  and  where  the  parish  graves 
were  made,  the  clergyman  had  not  arrived ;  and  the 
clerk,  who  was  sitting  by  the  vestry-room  fire,  seemed 
to  think  it  by  no  means  improbable  that  it  might  be 
an  hour  or  so  before  he  came.  So  they  put  the  bier 
on  the  brink  of  the  grave ;  and  the  two  mourners 
waited  patiently  in  the  damp  clay,  with  a  cold  rain 
drizzling  down,  while  the  ragged  boys  whom  the 
spectacle  had  attracted  into  the  church-yard  played 
a  noisy  game  at  hide-and-seek  among  the  tomb 
stones,  or  varied  their  amusements  by  jumping  back 
ward  and  forward  over  the  coffin.  Mr.  Sowerberry 
and  Bumble,  being  personal  friends  of  the  clerk,  sat 
by  the  fire  with  him,  and  read  the  paper. 

At  length,  after  a  lapse  of  something  more  than  an 
hour,  Mr.  Bumble,  and  Sowerberry,  and  the  clerk, 
were  seen  running  toward  the  grave.  Immediately 
afterward,  the  clergyman  appeared,  putting  on  his 
surplice  as  he  came  along.  Mr.  Bumble  then  thrash 
ed  a  boy  or  two,  to  keep  up  appearances ;  and  the 
reverend  gentleman,  having  read  as  much  of  the  bu 
rial  service  as  could  be  compressed  into  four  minutes, 
gave  his  surplice  to  the  clerk,  and  walked  away  again. 

"  Now,  Bill !"  said  Sowerberry  to  the  grave-digger. 
"Fill  up!" 

It  was  no  very  difficult  task ;  for  the  grave  was  so 
full,  that  the  uppermost  coffin  was  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  surface.  The  grave-digger  shoveled  in  the 
earth  ;  stamped  it  loosely  down  with  his  feet ;  shoul 
dered  his  spade ;  and  walked  off,  followed  by  the 
boys,  who  murmured  very  loud  complaints  at  the  fun 
being  over  so  soon. 

"  Come,  my  good  fellow !"  said  Bumble,  tapping 
the  man  on  the  back.  "  They  want  to  shut  up  the 
yard." 

The  man,  who  had  never  once  moved  since  he  had 
taken  his  station  by  the  grave-side,  started,  raised 
his  head,  stared  at  the  person  who  had  addressed 
him,  walked  forward  for  a  few  paces,  and  fell  down 
in  a  swoon.  The  crazy  old  woman  was  too  much  oc 
cupied  in  bewailing  the  loss  of  her  cloak  (which  the 
undertaker  had  taken  off)  to  pay  him  any  attention ; 
so  they  threw  a  can  of  cold  water  over  him;  and 
when  he  came  to,  saw  him  safely  out  of  the  church 
yard,  locked  the  gate,  and  departed  on  their  different 
ways. 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  Well,  Oliver,"  said  Sowerberry,  a.s  they  walked 
home,  "  how  do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  with 
considerable  hesitation.  "  Not  very  much,  sir.'^ 

"Ah,  you'll  get  used  to  it  in  time,  Oliver,"  said 
Sowerberry.  "  Nothing  when  vou  are  used  to  it,  my 
boy." 

Oliver  wondered,  in  his  own  mind,  whether  it  had 
taken  a  very  long  time  to  get  Mr.  Sowerberry  used 
to  it.  But  he  thought  it  better  not  to  ask  the  ques 
tion  ;  and  walked  back  to  the  shop,  thinking  over 
all  he  had  seen  and  heard. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OLIVER,    BEING     GOADED     BY     THE     TAUNTS     OF     NOAH, 
BOUSES   INTO   ACTION,  AND   RATHER   ASTONISHES  HIM. 

TlHE  month's  trial  over,  Oliver  was  formally  ap 
prenticed.  It  was  a  nice  sickly  season  just  at 
this  time.  In  commercial  phrase,  coffins  were  look 
ing  up ;  and,  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  Oliver  ac 
quired  a  great  deal  of  experience.  The  success  of  Mr. 
Sowerberry's  ingenious  speculation  exceeded  even  his 
most  sanguine  hopes.  The  oldest  inhabitants  recol 
lected  no  period  at  which  measles  had  been  so  prev 
alent,  or  so  fatal  to  infant  existence ;  and  many  were 
the  mournful  processions  which  little  Oliver  headed, 
in  a  hat-band  reaching  down  to  his  knees,  to  the  in 
describable  admiration  and  emotion  of  all  the-  moth 
ers  in  the  town.  As  Oliver  accompanied  his  master 
in  most  of  his  adult  expeditious,  too,  in  order  that  he 
might  acquire  that  equanimity  of  demeanor  and  full 
command  of  nerve  which  are  essential  to  a  finished 
undertaker,  he  had  many  opportunities  of  observing 
the  beautiful  resignation  and  fortitude  with  which 
some  strong-minded  people  bear  their  trials  and 
losses. 

For  instance ;  when  Sowerberry  had  an  order  for 
the  burial  of  some  rich  old  lady  or  gentleman,  who 
was  surrounded  by  a  great  number  of  nephews  and 
nieces,  who  had  been  perfectly  inconsolable  during 
the  previous  illness,  and  whose  grief  had  been  wholly 
irrepressible  even  on  the  most  public  occasions,  they 
would  be  as  happy  among  themselves  as  need  be — 
quite  cheerful  and  contented — conversing  together 
with  as  much  freedom  and  gayety,  as  if  nothing 
whatever  had  happened  to  disturb  them.  Husbands, 
too,  bore  the  loss  of  their  wives  with  the  most  heroic 
calmness.  Wives,  again,  put  on  weeds  for  their  hus 
bands,  as  if,  so  far  from  grieving  in  the  garb  of  sor 
row,  they  had  made  up  their  minds  to  render  it  as 
becoming  and  attractive  as  possible.  It  was  observ 
able,  too,  that  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  were  in  pas 
sions  of  anguish  during  the  ceremony  of  interment, 
recovered  almost  as  soon  as  they  reached  home,  and 
became  quite  composed  before  the  tea-drinking  was 
over.  All  this  was  very  pleasant  and  improving  to 
see ;  and  Oliver  beheld  it  with  great  admiration. 

That  Oliver  Twist  was  moved  to  resignation  by 
the  example  of  these  good  people,  I  can  not,  although 
I  am  his  biographer,  undertake  to  affirm  with  any 
degree  of  confidence ;  but  I  can  most  distinctly  say,  ! 
that  for  many  months  he  continued  meekly  to  sub-  ; 
mit  to  the  domination  and  ill-treatment  of  Noah 


Claypole :  who  used  him  far  worse  than  before,  now 
that  his  jealousy  was  roused  by  seeing  the  new  boy 
promoted  to  the  black  stick  and  hat-band,  while  he, 
the  old  one,  remained  stationary  in  the  muffin-cap 
and  leathers.  Charlotte  treated  him  ill,  because 
Noah  did  ;  and  Mrs.  Sowerberry  was  his  decided  en 
emy,  because  Mr.  Sowerberry  was  disposed  to  be  his 
friend ;  so,  between  these  three  on  one  side,  and  a 
glut  of  funerals  on  the  other,  Oliver  was  not  alto 
gether  as  comfortable  as  the  hungry  pig  was  when 
he  was  shut  up,  by  mistake,  in  the  grain  department 
of  a  brewery. 

And  now  I  come  to  a  very  important  passage  in 
Oliver's  history ;  for  I  have  to  record  an  act,  slight 
and  unimportant  perhaps  in  appearance,  but  which 
indirectly  produced  a  material  change  in  all  his  fu 
ture  prospects  and  proceedings. 

One  day,  Oliver  and  Noah  had  descended  into  the 
kitchen  at  the  usual  dinner-hour,  to  banquet  upon  a 
small  joint  of  mutton — a  pound  and  a  half  of  the 
worst  end  of  the  neck — when  Charlotte  being  called 
out  of  the  way,  there  ensued  a  brief  interval  of  time, 
which  Noah  Claypole,  being  hungry  and  vicious,  con 
sidered  he  could  not  possibly  devote  to  a  worthier 
purpose  than  aggravating  and  tantalizing  young  Ol 
iver  Twist. 

Intent  upon  this  innocent  amusement,  Noah  put 
his  feet  on  the  table-cloth  ;  and  pulled  Oliver's  hair ; 
and  twitched  his  ears;  and  expressed  his  opinion 
that  he  was  a  "  sneak ;"  and  furthermore  announced 
his  intention  of  coming  to  see  him  hanged,  whenever 
that  desirable  event  should  take  place ;  and  entered 
upon  various  other  topics  of  petty  annoyance,  like  a 
malicious  and  ill-conditioned  charity-boy  as  he  was. 
But,  none  of  these  taunts  producing  the  desired  ef 
fect  of  making  Oliver  cry,  Noah  attempted  to  be 
more  facetious  still ;  and  in  this  attempt,  did  what 
many  small  wits,  with  far  greater  reputations  than 
Noah,  sometimes  do  to  this  day,  when  they  want  to 
be  funny.  He  got  rather  personal. 

"  Work'us,"  said  Noah,  "  how's  your  mother  ?" 

"She's  dead,"  replied  Oliver;  "don't  you  say  any 
thing  about  her  to  me !" 

Oliver's  color  rose  as  he  said  this;  he  breathed 
quickly ;  and  there  was  a  curious  working  of  the 
mouth  and  nostrils,  which  Mr.  Claypole  thought 
must  be  the  immediate  precursor  of  a  violent  fit  of 
crying.  Under  this  impression  he  returned  to  the 
charge. 

"  What  did  she  die  of,  Work'us  ?"  said  Noah. 

"Of  a  broken  heart,  some  of  our  old  nurses  told 
me,"  replied  Oliver:  more  as  if  he  were  talking  to 
himself  than  answering  Noah.  "I  think  I  know 
what  it  must  be  to  die  of  that !" 

"Tol  de  rol  lol  lol,  right  fol  lairy,  Work'us,"  said 
Noah,  as  a  tear  rolled  down  Oliver's  cheek.  "  What's 
set  you  a  sniveling  now  ?" 

"Not  you"  replied  Oliver,  hastily  brushing  the 
tear  away.  "  Don't  think  it." 

"  Oh,  not  me,  eh  ?"  sneered  Noah. 

"  No,  not  you,"  replied  Oliver,  sharply.  "  There, 
that's  enough.  Don't  say  any  thing  more  to  me 
about  her ;  you'd  better  not !" 

"Better  not!"  exclaimed  Noah.  "Well!  Better 
not !  Work'us,  don't  be  impudent.  Your  mother, 
too !  She  was  a  nice  'un,  she  was.  Oh,  Lor !"  And 


MURDER. 


here  Noah  nodded  his  head  expressively ;  and  curled 
np  as  much  of  his  small  red  nose  as  muscular  action 
could  collect  together  for  the  occasion. 

"  Yer  know,  Work'us,"  continued  Noah,  embolden 
ed  by  Oliver's  silence,  and  speaking  in  a  jeering  tone 
of  affected  pity — of  all  tones  the  most  annoying— 
"  Yer  know,  Work'us,  it  can't  be  helped  now ;  and  of 
course  yer  couldn't  help  it  then ;  and  I'm  very  sorry 
for  it ;  and  I'm  sure  we  all  are,  and  pity  yer  very 
much.  But  yer  must  know,  Work'us,  yer  mother 
was  a  regular  right-down  bad  'un." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  inquired  Oliver,  looking  up 
very  quickly. 

"A  regular  right-down  bad  'un,  Work'us,"  replied 


His  breast  heaved ;  his  attitude  was  erect ;  his  eye 
bright  and  vivid ;  his  whole  person  changed,  as  he 
stood  glaring  over  the  cowardly  tormentor  who  now 
lay  crouching  at  his  feet ;  and  defied  him  with  an 
energy  he  had  never  known  before. 

"  He'll  murder  me !"  blubbered  Noah.  "  Charlotte ! 
missis!  Here's  the  new  boy  a  murdering  of  me! 
Help !  help !  •  Oliver's  gone  mad !  Char — lotte !" 

Noah's  shouts  were  responded  to  by  a  loud  scream 
from  Charlotte  and  a  louder  from  Mrs.  Sowerberry ; 
the  former  of  whom  rushed  into  the  kitchen  by  a 
side  door,  while  the  latter  paused  on  the  staircase 
till  she  was  quite  certain  that  it  was  consistent  with 
the  preservation  of  human  life  to  come  farther  down. 


OLIVER  BATHES   ASTONIbllBS  NOA1I. 


Noah,  coolly.  "  And  it's  a  great  deal  better,  Work'us, 
that  she  died  when  she  did,  or  else  she'd  have  been 
hard  laboring  in  Bridewell,  or  transported,  or  hung ; 
which  is  more  likely  than  either,  isn't  it  ?" 

Crimson  with  fury,  Oliver  started  up;  overthrew 
the  chair  and  table;  seized  Noah  by  the  throat; 
shook  him,  in  the  violence  of  his  rage,  till  his  teeth 
chattered  in  his  head ;  and,  collecting  his  whole  force 
into  one  heavy  blow,  felled  him  to  the  ground. 

A  minute  ago,  the  boy  had  looked  the  quiet,  mild, 
dejected  creature  that  harsh  treatment  had  made 
him.  But  his  spirit  was  roused  at  last;  the  cruel 
insult  to  his  dead  mother  had  set  his  blood  on  fire. 


"  Oh,  yon  little  wretch !"  screamed  Charlotte,  seiz 
ing  Oliver  with  her  utmost  force,  which  was  about 
equal  to  that  of  a  moderately  strong  man  in  partic 
ularly  good  training.  "  Oh,  you  little  un-grate-ful, 
mur-de-rous,  hor-rid  villain !"  And  between  every 
syllable  Charlotte  gave  Oliver  a  blow  with  all  her 
might,  accompanying  it  with  a  scream  for  the  bene 
fit  of  society. 

Charlotte's  fist  was  by  no  means  a  light  one  ;  but, 
lest  it  should  not  be  effectual  in  calming  Oliver's 
wrath,  Mrs.  Sowerberry  plunged  into  the  kitchen, 
and  assisted  to  hold  him  with  one  hand,  while  she 
scratched  his  face  with  the  other.  In  this  favorable 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


position  of  affairs,  Noah  rose  from  the  ground,  and 
pommeled  him  behind. 

This  was  rather  too  violent  exercise  to  last  long. 
When  they  were  all  wearied  out,  and  could  tear  and 
beat  no  longer,  they  dragged  Oliver,  struggling  and 
shouting,  but  nothing  daunted,  into  the  dust-cellar, 
and  there  locked  him  up.  This  being  done,  Mrs. 
Sowerberry  sunk  into  a  chair,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Bless  her,  she's  going  off!"  said  Charlotte.  "A 
glass  of  water,  Noah,  dear.  Make  haste !" 

"  Oh !  Charlotte,"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry :  speaking 
as  well  as  she  could,  through  a  deficiency  of  breath, 
and  a  sufficiency  of  cold  water,  which  Noah  had 
poured  over  her  head  and  shoulders.  "Oh!  Char 
lotte,  what  a  mercy  we  have  not  all  been  murdered 
in  our  beds !" 

"  Ah !  mercy  indeed,  ma'am,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
only  hope  this'll  teach  master  not  to  have  any  more 
of  these  dreadful  creaturs,  that  are  born  to  be  mur 
derers  and  robbers  from  their  very  cradle.  Poor 
Noah !  he  was  all  but  killed,  ma'am,  when  I  come  in." 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry,  looking  pit- 
eously  on  the  charity-boy. 

Noah,  whose  top  waistcoat  -  button  might  have 
been  somewhere  on  a  level  with  the  crown  of  Ol 
iver's  head,  rubbed  his  eyes  with  the  inside  of  his 
wrists  while  this  commiseration  was  bestowed  upon 
him,  and  performed  some  affecting  tears  and  sniffs. 

"  What's  to  be  done !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sowerberry. 
"  Your  master's  not  at  home ;  there's  not  a  man  in 
the  house,  and  he'll  kick  that  door  down  in  ten  min 
utes."  Oliver's  vigorous  plunges  against  the  bit  of 
timber  in  question  rendered  this  occurrence  highly 
probable. 

"  Dear,  dear !  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Charlotte, 
"  unless  we  send  for  the  police  officers." 

"  Or  the  millingtary,"  suggested  Mr.  Claypole. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry :  bethinking  her 
self  of  Oliver's  old  friend.  "  Run  to  Mr.  Bumble, 
Noah,  and  tell  him  to  come  here  directly,  and  not  to 
lose  a  minute ;  never  mind  your  cap !  Make  haste ! 
You  can  hold  a  knife  to  that  black  eye,  as  you  run 
along.  It'll  keep  the  swelling  down." 

Noah  stopped  to  make  no  reply,  but  started  off  at 
his  fullest  speed ;  and  very  much  it  astonished  the 
people  who  were  out  walking,  to  see  a  charity-boy 
tearing  through  the  streets  pell-mell,  with  no  cap  on 
his  head,  and  a  clasp-knife  at  his  eye. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OLIVER  CONTINUES  REFRACTORY. 

"VfOAH  CLAYPOLE  ran  along  the  streets  at  Ms 
±\  swiftest  pace,  and  paused  not  once  for  breath 
until  he  reached  the  work-house  gate.  Having  rest 
ed  here,  for  a  minute  or  so,  to  collect  a  good  burst  of 
sobs  and  an  imposing  show  of  tears  and  terror,  he 
knocked  loudly  at  the  wicket ;  and  presented  such  a 
rueful  face  to  the  aged  pauper  who  opened  it,  that 
even  he,  who  saw  nothing  but  rueful  faces  about 
him  at  the  best  of  times,  started  back  in  astonish 
ment. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  boy !"  said  the 
old  pauper. 


"  Mr.  Bumble !  Mr.  Bumble !"  cried  Noah,  with  well- 
affected  dismay :  and  in  tones  so  loud  and  agitated, 
that  they  not  only  caught  the  ear  of  Mr.  Bumble 
himself,  who  happened  to  be  hard  by,  but  alarmed 
him  so  much  that  he  rushed  into  the  yard  without 
his  cocked  hat — which  is  a  very  curious  and  remark 
able  circumstance :  as  showing  that  even  a  beadle, 
acted  upon  by  a  sudden  and  powerful  impulse,  may 
be  afflicted  with  a  momentary  visitation  of  loss  of 
self-possession,  and  forgetfuluess  of  personal  dignity. 

" Oh, Mr.  Bumble,  sir !"  said  Noah:  "  Oliver,  sir — 
Oliver  has — " 

"  What  ?  What  ?"  interposed  Mr.  Bumble,  with  a 
gleam  of  pleasure  in  his  metallic  eyes.  "Not  run 
away ;  he  hasn't  run  away,  has  he,  Noah  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  no.  Not  run  away,  sir,  but  he's  turned 
wicious,"  replied  Noah.  "  He  tried  to  murder  me, 
sir ;  and  then  he  tried  to  murder  Charlotte ;  and 
then  missis.  Oh!  what  dreadful  pain  it  is!  Such 
agony,  please,  sir!"  And  here  Noah  writhed  and 
twisted  his  body  into  an  extensive  variety  of  eel- 
like  positions ;  thereby  giving  Mr.  Bumble  to  under 
stand  that,  from  the  violent  and  sanguinary  onset 
of  Oli^r  Twist,  he  had  sustained  severe  internal  in 
jury  and  damage,  from  which  he  was  at  that  mo 
ment  suffering  the  acutest  torture. 

When  Noah  saw  that  the  intelligence  he  commu 
nicated  perfectly  paralyzed  Mr.  Bumble,  he  imparted 
additional  effect  thereunto,  by  bewailing  his  dread 
ful  wounds  ten  times  louder  than  before ;  and  when 
he  observed  a  gentleman  in  a  white  wraistcoat  cross 
ing  the  yard,  he  was  more  tragic  in  his  lamentations 
than  ever :  rightly  conceiving  it  highly  expedient  to 
attract  the  notice,  and  rouse  the  indignation,  of  the 
gentleman  aforesaid. 

The  gentleman's  notice  was  very  soon  attracted ; 
for  he  had  not  walked  three  paces,  when  he  turned 
angrily  round,  and  inquired  what  that  young  cur 
was  howling  for,  and  why  Mr.  Bumble  did  not  favor 
Mm  with  something  which  would  render  the  series 
of  vocular  exclamations  so  designated  an  involun 
tary  process  ? 

"  It's  a  poor  boy  from  the  free-school,  sir,"  replied 
Mr. Bumble,  "who  has  been  nearly  murdered  —  all 
but  murdered,  sir — by  young  Twist." 

"  By  Jove !"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in  the  white 
waistcoat,  stopping  short.  "  I  knew  it !  I  felt  a 
strange  presentiment  from  the  very  first,  that  that 
audacious  young  savage  would  come  to  be  hung !" 

"  He  has  likewise  attempted,  sir,  to  murder  the  fe 
male  servant,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  with  a  face  of  ashy 
paleness. 

"  And  his  missis,"  interposed  Mr.  Claypole. 

"And  his  master,  too,  I  think  you  said,  Noah?" 
added  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  No !  he's  out,  or  he  would  have  murdered  him," 
replied  Noah.  "  He  said  he  wanted  to." 

"  Ah !  Said  he  wanted  to,  did  he,  my  boy  ?"  in 
quired  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Noah.  "  And  please,  sir,  missis 
wants  to  know  whether  Mr.  Bumble  can  spare  time 
to  step  up  there,  directly,  and  flog  him — 'cause  mas 
ter's  out." 

"  Certainly,  my  boy ;  certainly,"  said  the  gentle 
man  in  the  white  waistcoat :  smiling  benignly,  and 
patting  Noah's  head,  wMch  was  about  three  inches 


MISCHIEVOUS  EFFECTS  OF  MEAT. 


27 


higher  than  his  own.  "  You're  a  good  boy — a  very 
good  boy.  Here's  a  penny  for  you.  Bumble,  just 
step  up  to  Sowerberry's  with  your  cane,  and  see 
what's  best  to  be  done.  Don't  spare  him,  Bumble." 

"  No,  I  will  not,  sir,"  replied  the  beadle :  adjusting 
the  wax-end  which  was  twisted  round  the  bottom 
of  his  cane,  for  purposes  of  parochial  flagellation. 

"  Tell  Sowerbeny  not  to  spare  him  either.  They'll 
never  do  any  thing  with  him,  without  stripes  and 
bruises,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat. 

"  I'll  take  care,  sir,"  replied  the  beadle.  And  the 
cocked  hat  and  cane  having  been,  by  this  time,  ad 
justed  to  their  owner's  satisfaction,  Mr.  Bumble  and 
Noah  Claypole  betook  themselves  with  all  speed  to 
the  undertaker's  shop. 

Here  the  position  of  affairs  had  not  at  all  improved. 
Sowerberry  had  not  yet  returned,  and  Oliver  con 
tinued  to  kick,  with  undiminished  vigor,  at  the  cellar- 
door.  The  accounts  of  his  ferocity,  as  related  by  Mrs. 
Sowerberry  and  Charlotte,  were  of  so  startling  a  na 
ture,  that  Mr.  Bumble  judged  it  prudent  to  parley, 
before  opening  the  door.  With  this  view  he  gave  a 
kick  at  the  outside,  by  way  of  prelude ;  and  then,  ap 
plying  his  mouth  to  the  key-hole,  said,  in  a  deep  and 
impressive  tone : 

"Oliver!" 

"  Come ;  you  let  me  out !"  replied  Oliver,  from  the 
inside. 

"  Do  you  know  this  here  voice,  Oliver  '?"  said  Mr. 
Bumble. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Ain't  you  afraid  of  it,  sir  ?  Ain't  you  a-trembling 
while  I  speak,  sir  ?"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  No !"  replied  Oliver,  boldly. 

An  answer  so  different  from  the  one  he  had  expect 
ed  to  elicit,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving,  stag 
gered  Mr.  Bumble  not  a  little.  He  stepped  back  from 
the  key-hole,  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and 
looked  from  one  to  another  of  the  three  by-standers, 
in  mute  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  you  know,  Mr.  Bumble,  he  must  be  mad." 
.said  Mrs.  Sowerberry.  "  No  boy  in  half  his  senses 
could. venture  to  speak  so  to  you." 

"  It's  not  Madness,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble, 
after  a  few  moments  of  deep  meditation.  "It's 
Meat." 

"  What  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sowerberry. 

"  Meat,  ma'am,  meat,"  replied  Bumble,  with  stern 
emphasis.  "  You've  overfed  him,  ma'am.  You've 
raised  a  artificial  soul  and  spirit  in  him,  ma'am,  un 
becoming  a  person  of  his  condition :  as  the  board, 
Mrs.  Sowerberry,  who  are  practical  philosophers,  will 
tell  you.  What  have  paupers  to  do  with  soul  or 
spirit  ?  It's  quite  enough  that  we  let  'em  have  live 
bodies.  If  you  had  kept  the  boy  on  gruel,  ma'am, 
this  would  never  have  happened." 

"  Dear,  dear !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Sowerberry,  piously 
raising  her  eyes  to  the  kitchen  ceiling ;  "  this  comes 
of  being  liberal !" 

The  liberality  of  Mrs.  Sowerberry  to  Oliver  had 
consisted  in  a  profuse  bestowal  upon  him  of  all  the 
dirty  odds  and  ends  which  nobody  else  would  eat ;  so 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  meekness  and  self-devotion 
in  he*  voluntarily  remaining  under  Mr.  Bumble's 
heavy  accusation.  Of  which,  to  do  her  justice,  she 
was  wholly  innocent  in  thought,  word,  or  deed. 


"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  when  the  lady  brought 
her  eyes  down  to  earth  again ;  "  the  only  thing  that 
can  be  done  now,  that  I  know  of,  is  to  leave  him  in 
the  cellar  for  a  day  or  so,  till  he's  a  little  starved 
down ;  and  then  to  take  him  out,  and  keep  bim  on 
gruel  all  through  his  apprenticeship.  He  comes  of 
a  bad  family.  Excitable  natures,  Airs.  Sowerberry ! 
Both  the  nurse  and  doctor  said  that  that  mother  of 
his  made  her  way  here,  against  difficulties  and  pain 
that  would  have  killed  any  well-disposed  woman, 
weeks  before." 

At  this  point  of  Mr.  Bumble's  discourse,  Oliver, 
just  hearing  enough  to  know  that  some  new  allu 
sion  was  being  made  to  his  mother,  recommenced 
kicking,  with  a  violence  that  rendered  every  other 
sound  inaudible.  Sowerberry  returned  at  this  junct 
ure.  .  Oliver's  offense  having  been  explained  to  him, 
with  such  exaggerations  as  the  ladies  thought  best 
calculated  to  rouse  his  ire,  he  unlocked  the  cellar- 
door  in  a  twinkling,  and  dragged  his  rebellious  ap 
prentice  out  by  the  collar. 

Oliver's  clothes  had  been  torn  in  the  beating  he 
had  received;  his  face  was  bruised  and  scratched; 
and  his  hair  scattered  over  his  forehead.  The  angry 
flush  had  not  disappeared,  however;  and  when  he 
was  pulled  out  of  his  prison,  he  scowled  boldly  on 
Noah,  and  looked  quite  undismayed. 

"  Now,  you  are  a  nice  young  fellow,  ain't  you  ?" 
said  Sowerberry ;  giving  Oliver  a  shake,  and  a  box 
on  the  ear. 

"  He  called  my  mother  names,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Well,  and  what  if  he  did,  you  little  ungrateful 
wretch  ?"  said  Mrs.  Sowerberry.  "  She  deserved 
what  he  said,  and  worse." 

"  She  didn't,"  said  Oliver. 

"  She  did,"  said  Mrs.  Sowerbeny. 

"  It's  a  lie !"  said  Oliver. 

Mrs.  Sowerberry  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

This  flood  of  tears  left  Mr.  Sowerberry  no  alterna 
tive.  If  he  had  hesitated  for  one  instant  to  punish 
Oliver  most  severely,  it  must  be  quite  clear  to  every 
experienced  reader  that  he  would  have  been,  accord 
ing  to  all  precedents  in  disputes  of  matrimony  es 
tablished,  a  brute,  an  unnatural  husband,  an  insult 
ing  creature,  a  base  imitation  of  a  man,  and  various 
other  agreeable  characters  too  numerous  for  recital 
within  the  limits  of  this  chapter.  To  do  him  justice, 
he  was,  as  far  as  his  power  went — it  was  not  very 
extensive  —  kindly  disposed  toward  the  boy;  per 
haps,  because  it  was  his  interest  to  be  so ;  perhaps, 
because  his  wife  disliked  him.  The  flood  of  tears, 
however,  left  him  no  resource ;  so  he  at  once  gave 
him  a  drubbing,  which  satisfied  even  Mrs.  Sowerber 
ry  herself,  and  rendered  Mr.  Bumble's  subsequent  ap 
plication  of  the  parochial  cane  rather  unnecessary. 
For  the  rest  of  the  day,  he  was  shut  up  in  the  back 
kitchen,  in  company  with  a  pump  and  a  slice  of 
bread ;  and,  at  night,  Mrs.  Sowerberry,  after  making 
various  remarks  outside  the  door,  by  no  means  com 
plimentary  to  the  memory  of  his  mother,  looked  into 
the  room,  and,  amidst  the  jeers  and  pointings  of  Noah 
and  Charlotte,  ordered  him  up  stairs  to  his  dismal 
bed. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  left  alone  in  the  silence 
and  stillness  of  the  gloomy  workshop  of  the  under 
taker,  that  Oliver  gave  way  to  the  feelings  which 


28 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


the  day's  treatment  may  he  supposed,  likely  to  have 
awakened  in  a  mere  child.  He  had  listened  to  their 
taunts  with  a  look  of  contempt ;  he  had  borne  the 
lash  without  a  cry ;  for  he  felt  that  pride  swelling 
in  his  heart  which  would  have  kept  down  a  shriek 
to  the  last,  though  they  had  roasted  him  alive.  But 
now,  when  there  was  none  to  see  or  hear  him,  he  fell 
upon  his  knees  on  the  floor ;  and,  hiding  his  face  in 
his  hands,  wept  such  tears  as,  God  send  for  the  cred 
it  of  our  nature,  few  so  young  may  ever  have  cause 
to  pour  out  before  him ! 

For  a  long  time  Oliver  remained  motionless  in 
this  attitude.  The  caudle  was  burning  low  in  the 
socket  when  he  rose  to  his  feet.  Having  gazed  cau 
tiously  round  him,  and  listened  intently,  he  gently 
undid  the  fastenings  of  the  door,  and  looked  abroad. 

It  was  a  cold,  dark  night.  The  stars  seemed,  to  the 
boy's  eyes,  farther  from  the  earth  than  he  had  ever 
seen  them  before ;  there  was  no  wind ;  and  the  sombre 
shadows  thrown  by  the  trees  upon  the  ground,  looked 
sepulchral  and  death-like,  from  being  so  still.  He 
softly  reclosed  the  door.  Having  availed  himself 
of  the  expiring  light  of  the  candle  to  tie  up  in  a 
handkerchief  the  few  articles  of  wearing  apparel 
he  had,  sat  himself  down  upon  a  bench  to  wait  for 
morning. 

With  the  first  ray  of  light  that  struggled  through 
the  crevices  in  the  shutters,  Oliver  arose,  and  again 
unbarred  the  door.  One  timid  look  around — one 
moment's  pause  of  hesitation — he  had  closed  it  be 
hind  him,  and  was  in  the  open  street. 

He  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  uncertain 
whither  to  fly.  .  He  remembered  to  have  seen  the 
wagons,  as  they  went  out,  toiling  up  the  hill.  He 
took  the  same  route;  and  arriving  at  a  foot-path 
across  the  fields,  which  he  knew,  after  some  dis 
tance,  led  out  again  into  the  road,  struck  into  it, 
and  walked  quickly  on. 

Along  this  same  foot-path,  Oliver  well  remember 
ed  he  had  trotted  beside  Mr.  Bumble,  when  he  first 
carried  him  to  the  work-house  from  the  farm.  His 
way  lay  directly  in  front  of  the  cottage.  His  heart 
beat  quickly  when  he  bethought  himself  of  this,  and 
he  half  resolved  to  turn  back.  He  had  come  a  long 
way  though,  and  should  lose  a  great  deal  of  time  by 
doing  so.  Besides,  it  was  so  early  that  there  was 
very  little  fear  of  his  being  seen ;  so  he  walked  on. 

He  reached  the  house.  There  was  no  appearance 
of  its  inmates  stirring  at  that  early  hour.  Oliver 
stopped,  and  peeped  into  the  garden.  A  child  was 
weeding  one  of  the  little  beds ;  as  he  stopped,  he 
raised  his  pale  face  and  disclosed  the  features  of  one 
of  his  former  companions.  Oliver  felt  glad  to  see 
him  before  he  went ;  for,  though  younger  than  him 
self,  he  had  been  his  little  friend  and  playmate. 
They  had  been  beaten,  and  starved,  and  shut  up  to 
gether  many  and  many  a  time. 

"  Hush,  Dick !"  said  Oliver,  as  the  boy  ran  to  the 
gate,  and  thrust  his  thin  arm  between  the  rails  to 
greet  him.  "  Is  any  one  up  ?" 

"  Nobody  but  me,"  replied  the  child. 

"  You  mustn't  say  you  saw  me,  Dick,"  said  Oliver. 
"  I  am  running  away.  They  beat  and  ill-use  me, 
Dick ;  and  I  am  going  to  seek  my  fortune  some 
long  way  off.  I  don't  know  where.  How  pale  you 
are !" 


"  I  heard  the  doctor  tell  them  I  was  dying,"  re 
plied  the  child,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  you,  dear ;  but  don't  stop,  don't  stop !" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will,  to  say  good-bye  to  you,"  replied 
Oliver.  "  I  shall  see  you  again,  Dick.  I  know  I 
shall.  You  will  be  well  and  happy !" 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  the  child.  "  After  I  am  dead, 
but  not  before.  I  know  the  doctor  must  be  right, 
Oliver,  because  I  dream  so  much  of  Heaven,  and  An 
gels,  and  kind  faces  that  I  never  see  when  I  am 
awake.  Kiss  me,"  said  the  child,  climbing  up  the 
low  gate,  and  flinging  his  little  arms  round  Oliver's 
neck :  "  Good-bye,  dear !  God  bless  you !" 

The  blessing  was  from  a  young  child's  lips,  but  it 
was  the  first  that  Oliver  had  ever  heard  invoked 
upon  his  head ;  and  through  the  struggles  and  suf 
ferings,  and  troubles  and  changes,  of  his  after-life,  he 
never  once  forgot  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OLIVER  WALKS    TO  LONDON.       HE    ENCOUNTERS    ON    THE 
ROAD  A  STRANGE   SORT   OF   TOUNG   GENTLEMAN. 

OLIVER  reached  the  stile  at  which  the  by-path 
terminated,  and  once  more  gained  the  high 
road.  It  was  eight  o'clock  now.  Though  he  was 
nearly  five  miles  away  from  the  town,  he  ran,  and 
hid  behind  the  hedges,  by  turns,  till  noon,  fearing 
that  he  might  be  pursued  and  overtaken.  Then  he 
sat  down  to  rest  by  the  side  of  the  mile-stone,  and  be 
gan  to  think,  for  the  first  time,  where  he  had  better 
go  and  try  to  live. 

The  stone  by  which  he  was  seated  bore,  in  large 
characters,  an  intimation  that  it  was  just  seventy 
miles  from  that  spot  to  London.  The  name  awaken 
ed  a  new  train  of  ideas  in  the  boy's  mind.  London ! 
— that  great  large  place !  —  nobody  —  not  even  Mr. 
Bumble — could  ever  find  him  there !  He  had  often 
heard  the  old  men  in  the  work-house,  too,  say  that 
no  lad  of  spirit  need  want  in  London ;  and  that  there 
were  ways  of  living  in  that  vast  city  which-  those 
who  had  been  bred  up  in  country  parts  had  no  idea 
of.  It  was  the  very  place  for  a  homeless  boy,  who 
must  die  in  the  streets  unless  some  one  helped  him. 
As  these  things  passed  through  his  thoughts,  he 
jumped  upon  his  feet  and  again  walked  forward. 

He  had  diminished  the  distance  between  himself 
and  London  by  full  four  miles  more,  before  he  recol 
lected  how  much  he  must  undergo  ere  he  could  hope 
to  reach  his  place  of  destination.  As  this  considera 
tion  forced  itself  upon  him,  he  slackened  his  pace  a 
little,  and  meditated  upon  his  means  of  getting  there. 
He  had  a  crust  of  bread,  a  coarse  shirt,  and  two  pairs 
of  stockings  in  his  bundle.  He  had  a  penny  too — a 
gift  of  Sowerberry's  after  some  funeral  in  which  he 
had  acquitted  himself  more  than  ordinarily  well — in 
his  pocket.  "  A  clean  shirt,"  thought  Oliver,  "  is  a 
very  comfortable  thing;  and  so  are  two  pairs  of 
darned  stockings ;  and  so  is  a  penny ;  but  they  are 
small  helps  to  a  sixty-five  miles'  walk  in  winter 
time."  But  Oliver's  thoughts,  like  those  of  most 
other  people,  although  they  were  extreme^  ready 
and  active  to  point  out  his  difficulties,  were  wholly 
at  a  loss  to  suggest  any  feasible  mode  of  surmount- 


THE   YOUNG  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 


29 


ing  them ;  so,  after  a  good  deal  of  thinking  to  no 
particular  purpose,  he  changed  his  little  bundle  over 
to  the  other  shoulder,  and  trudged  on, 

Oliver  walked  twenty  miles  that  day  ;  and  all  that 
time  tasted  nothing  but  the  crust  of  dry  bread,  and 
a  few  draughts  of  water,  which  he  begged  at  the  cot 
tage-doors  by  the  road-side.  When  the  night  came, 
he  turned  into  a  meadow ;  and,  creeping  close  under 
a  hay-rick,  determined  to  lie  there  till  morning.  He 
felt  frightened  at  first,  for  the  wind  moaned  dismally 
over  the  empty  fields ;  and  he  was  cold  and  hungry, 
and  more  alone  than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  Being 
very  tired  with  his  walk,  however,  he  soon  fell  asleep 
and  forgot  his  troubles. 

He  felt  cold  and  stiff  when  he  got  up  next  morn 
ing,  and  so  hungry  that  he  was  obliged  to  exchange 
the  penny  for  a  small  loaf,  in  the  very  first  village 
through  which  he  passed.  He  had  walked  no  more 
than  twelve  miles,  when  night  closed  in  again.  His 
feet  were  sore,  and  his  legs  so  weak  that  they  trem 
bled  beneath  him.  Another  night  passed  in  the 
bleak,  damp  air,  made  him  worse ;  when  he  set  for 
ward  on  his  journey  next  morning,  he  could  hardly 
crawl  along. 

He  waited  at  the  bottom  of  a  steep  hill  till  a  stage 
coach  came  up,  and  then  begged  of  the  outside  pas 
sengers  ;  but  there  were  very  few  who  took  any  no 
tice  of  him ;  and  even  those  told  him  to  wait  till 
they  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  then  let  them  see 
how  far  he  could  run  for  a  halfpenny.  Poor  Oliver 
tried  to  keep  up  with  the  coach  a  little  way,  but  was 
unable  to  do  it,  by  reason  of  his  fatigue  and  sore  feet. 
When  the  outsides  saw  this,  they  put  their  half 
pence  back  into  their  pockets  again,  declaring  that 
he  was  an  idle  young  dog,  and  didn't  deserve  any 
thing ;  and  the  coach  rattled  away  and  left  only  a 
cloud  of  dust  behind. 

In  some  villages,  large  painted  boards  were  fixed 
up,  warning  all  persons  who  begged  within  the  dis 
trict  that  they  would  be  sent  to  jail.  This  fright 
ened  Oliver  very  much,  and  made  him  glad  to  get 
out  of  those  villages  with  all  possible  expedition.  In 
others,  he  would  stand  about  the  inn-yards,  and  look 
mournfully  at  every  one  who  passed :  a  proceeding 
which  generally  terminated  in  the  landlady's  order 
ing  one  of  the  post-boys  who  were  lounging  about 
to  drive  that  strange  boy  out  of  the  place,  for  she 
was  sure  he  had  come  to  steal  something.  If  he 
begged  at  a  farmer's  house,  ten  to  one  but  they 
threatened  to  set  the  dog  on  him ;  and  when  he 
showed  his  nose  in  a  shop,  they  talked  about  the 
beadle — which  brought  Oliver's  heart  into  his  mouth 
— very  often  the  only  thing  he  had  there  for  many 
hours  together. 

In  fact,  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  good-hearted  turn 
pike-man,  and  a  benevolent  old  lady,  Oliver's  trou 
bles  would  have  been  shortened  by  the  very  same 
process  which  had  put  an  end  to  his  mother's;  in 
other  words,  he  would  most  assuredly  have  fallen 
dead  upon  the  king's  highway.  But.  the  turnpike- 
niiin  gave  him  a  meal  of  bread  and  cheese;  and  the 
old  lady,  who  had  a  shipwrecked  grandson  wander 
ing  barefoot  in  some  distant  part  of  the  earth,  took 
pity  upon  the  poor  orphan,  and  gave  him  what  little 
she  coiild  afford — and  more — with  such  kind  and 
gentle  words,  and  such  tears  of  sympathy  and  com 


passion,  that  they  sank  deeper  into  Oliver's  soul, 
than  all  the  sufferings  he  had  ever  undergone. 

Early  on  the  seventh  morning  after  he  had  left  his 
native  place,  Oliver  limped  slowly  into  the  little  town 
of  Bamet.  The  window-shutters  wrere  closed ;  the 
street  was  empty ;  not  a  soul  had  awakened  to  the 
business  of  the  day.  The  sun  was  rising  in  all  its 
splendid  beauty ;  but  the  light  only  served  to  show 
the  boy  his  own  lonesomeness  and  desolation,  as  he 
sat,  with  bleeding  feet  and  covered  with  dust,  upon 
a  door-step. 

By  degrees  the  shutters  were  opened ;  the  window- 
blinds  were  drawn  up ;  and  people  began  passing  to 
and  fro.  Some  few  stopped  to  gaze  at  Oliver  for  a 
moment  or  two,  or  turned  round  to  stare  at  him  as 
they  hurried  by ;  but  none  relieved  him,  or  troubled 
themselves  to  inquire  how  he  came  there.  He  had 
no  heart  to  beg.  And  there  he  sat. 

He  had  been  crouching  on  the  step  for  some  time : 
wondering  at  the  great  number  of  public -houses 
(every  other  house  in  Baruet  was  a  tavern,  large  or 
small),  gazing  listlessly  at  the  coaches  as  they  passed 
through,  and  thinking  how  strange  it  seemed  that 
they  could  do,  with  ease,  in  a  few  hours,  what  it  had 
taken  him  a  whole  week  of  courage  and  determina 
tion  beyond  his  years  to  accomplish :  when  he  was 
roused  by  observing  that  a  boy,  who  had  passed  him 
carelessly  some  minutes  before,  had  returned,  and 
was  now  surveying  him  most  earnestly  from  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  way.  He  took  little  heed  of  this 
at  first ;  but  the  boy  remained  in  the  same  attitude 
of  close  observation  so  long,  that  Oliver  raised  his 
head,  and  returned  his  steady  look.  Upon  this,  the 
boy  crossed  over,  and,  walking  close  up  to  Oliver,  said, 

"  Hullo,  my  covey !     What's  the  row  ?" 

The  boy  who  addressed  this  inquiry  to  the  young 
wayfarer,  was  about  his  own  age :  but  one  of  the 
queerest -looking  boys  that  Oliver  had  ever  seen. 
He  was  a  snub-nosed,  flat-browed,  common-faced  boy 
enough ;  and  as  dirty  a  juvenile  as  one  would  wish 
to  see ;  but  he  had  about  him  all  the  airs  and  man 
ners  of  a  man.  He  was  short  of  his  age ;  with  rath 
er  bow  legs,  and  little,  sharp,  ugly  eyes.  His  hat  was 
stuck  on  the  top  of  his  head  so  lightly,  that  it  threat 
ened  to  fall  off  every  moment — and  would  have  done 
so,  very  often,  if  the  wearer  had  not  had  a  knack  of 
every  now  and  then  giving  his  head  a  sudden  twitch, 
which  brought  it  back  to  its  old  place  again.  He 
wore  a  man's  coat,  which  reached  nearly  to  his  heels. 
He  had  turned  the  cuffs  back,  half-way  up  his  arm, 
to  get  his  hands  out  of  the  sleeves :  apparently  with 
the  ultimate  view  of  thrusting  them  into  the  pockets 
of  his  corduroy  trowsers;  for  there  he  kept  them. 
He  was,  altogether,  as  roystering  and  swaggering  a 
young  gentleman  as  ever  stood  four  feet  six,  or  some 
thing  less,  in  his  bluchers.  . 

"  Hullo,  my  covey !  What's  the  row  ?"  said  this 
strange  young  gentleman  to  Oliver. 

"  I  am  very  hungry  and  tired,"  replied  Oliver :  the 
tears  standing  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have 
walked  a  long  way.  I  have  been  walking  these 
seven  days." 

"  Walking  for  sivin  days !"  said  the  young  gentle 
man.  "  Oh,  I  see.  Beak's  order,  eh  ?  But,"  he  add 
ed,  noticing  Oliver's  look  of  surprise,  "  I  suppose  you 
don't  know  what  a  beak  is,  my  flash  com-pan-i-on." 


30 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


Oliver  mildly  replied,  that  he  had  always  heard  a 
bird's  month  described  by  the  term  in  question. 

"  My  eyes,  how  green !"  exclaimed  the  young  gen 
tleman.  "  Why,  a  beak's  a  madgst'rate ;  and  when 
you  walk  by  a  beak's  order,  it's  not  straight  forerd, 
but  always  a-going  up,  and  nivir  a-couiiug  down  agin. 
Was  you  never  on  the  mill  ?" 

"  What  mill  ?"  inquired  Oliver. 

"  What  mill !  Why,  the  mill — the  mill  as  takes  up 
so  little  room  that  it'll  work  inside  a  Stone  Jug ;  and 
always  goes  better  when  the  wind's  low  with  people, 
than  when  it's  high ;  acos  then  they  can't  get  work 
men.  But  come,"  said  the  young  gentleman ;  "  you 
want  grub,  and  you  shall  have  it.  I'm  at  low-wa 
ter-mark  myself — only  one  bob  and  a  magpie ;  but, 


which  the  strange  boy  eyed  him  from  time  to  time 
with  great  attention. 

"  Going  to  London  ?"  said  the  strange  boy,  when 
Oliver  had  at  length  concluded. 

"  Yes." 

"  Got  any  lodgings  ?" 

"No." 

"Money?" 

"No." 

The  strange  boy  whistled,  and  put  his  arms  into  his 
pockets  as  far  as  the  big  coat  sleeves  would  let  them  go. 

"  Do  you  live  in  London  ?"  inquired  Oliver. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  when  I'm  at  home,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  I  suppose  you  want  some  place  to  sleep  in  to-night, 
don't  you  F 


"  HULLO,  MY   COVEY  !     WIIAT'B   TI1E   EOW  ?" 


as  far  as  it  goes,  I'll  fork  out  and  stump.     Up  with 
you  on  your  pins.     There !     Now  then !     Morrice !" 

Assisting  Oliver  to  rise,  the  young  gentleman  took 
him  to  an  adjacent  chandler's  shop,  where  he  pur 
chased  a  sufficiency  of  ready-dressed  ham  and  a  half- 
quartern  loaf,  or,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  "  a  four- 
penny  bran!"  the  ham  being  kept  clean  and  pre 
served  from  dust  by  the  ingenious  expedient  of  mak 
ing  a  hole  in  the  loaf  by  pulling  out  a  portion  of  the 
crumb,  and 'stuffing  it  therein.  Taking  the  bread 
under  his  arm,  the  young  gentleman  turned  into  a 
small  public-house,  and  led  the  way  to  a  tap-room  in 
the  rear  of  the  premises.  Here  a  pot  of  beer  was 
brought  in  by  direction  of  the  mysterious  youth; 
and  Oliver,  falling  to  at  his  new  friend's  bidding, 
made  a  long  and  hearty  meal,  during  the  progress  of 


"  I  do,  indeed,"  answered  Oliver.  "  I  have  not  slept 
under  a  roof  since  I  left  the  country." 

"Don't  fret  your  eyelids  on  that  score," said  tlir 
young  gentleman.  "I've  got  to  be  in  London  to 
night  ;  and  I  know  a  'spectable  old  genelman  as  lives 
there,  wot'll  give  you  lodgings  for  nothink,  and  nev 
er  ask  for  the  change — that  is,  if  any  genelman  he 
knows  interduces  you.  And  don't  he  know  me  f 
Oh,  no  !  not  in  the  least !  By  no  means.  Certainly 
not!" 

The  young  gentleman  smiled,  as  if  to  intimate  that 
the  latter  fragments  of  discourse  were  playfully  iron 
ical  ;  and  finished  the  beer  as  he  did  so. 

This  unexpected  offer  of  shelter  was  too  tempting 
to  be  resisted ;  especially  as  it  was  immediately  fol 
lowed  up,  by  the  assurance  that  the  old  gentleman 


THE  ARTFUL  DODGER. 


31 


referred  to  would  doubtless  provide  Oliver  with  a 
comfortable  place,  without  loss  of  time.  This  led 
te  a  more  friendly  and  confidential  dialogue ;  from 
which  Oliver  discovered  that  his  friend's  name  was 
Jack  Dawkins,  and  that  he  was  a  peculiar  pet  and 
protege  of  the  elderly  gentleman  before  mentioned. 

Mr.  Dawkins's  appearance  did  not  say  a  vast  deal 
in  favor  of  the  comforts  which  his  patron's  interest 
obtained  for  those  whom  he  took  under  his  protec 
tion  ;  but,  as  he  had  a  rather  flighty  and  dissolute 
mode  of  conversing,  and  furthermore  avowed  that 
among  his  intimate  friends  he  was  better  known  by 
the  sobriquet  of  "  The  artful  Dodger,"  Oliver  conclud 
ed  that,  being  of  a  dissipated  and  careless  turn,  the 
moral  precepts  of  his  benefactor  had  hitherto  been 
thrown  away  upon  him.  Under  this  impression,  he 
secretly  resolved  to  cultivate  the  good  opinion  of  the 
old  gentleman  as  quickly  as  possible ;  and,  if  he 
found  the  Dodger  incorrigible,  as  he  more  than  half 
suspected  he  should,  to  decline  the  honor  of  his  fur 
ther  acquaintance. 

As  John  Dawkius  objected  to  their  entering  Lon 
don  before  nightfall,  it  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock 
when  they  reached  the  turnpike  at  Islington.  They 
crossed  from  the  Angel  into  St.  John's  road ;  struck 
down  the  small  street  which  terminates  at  Sadler's 
Wells  Theatre ;  through  Exmouth  Street  and  Cop 
pice  Row ;  down  the  little  court  by  the  side  of  the 
work-house;  across  the  classic  ground  which  once 
bore  the  name  of  Hockley-iu-the-Hole ;  thence  into 
Little  Saffron  Hill ;  and  so  into  Saffron  Hill  the 
Great ;  along  which  the  Dodger  scudded  at  a  rapid 
pace,  directing  Oliver  to  follow  close  at  his  heels. 

Although  Oliver  had  enough  to  occupy  his  atten 
tion  in  keeping  sight  of  his  leader,  he  could  not  help 
bestowing  a  few  hasty  glances  on  either  side  of  the 
way,  as  he  passed  along.  A  dirtier  or  more  wretch 
ed  place  he  had  never  seen.  The  street  was  very 
narrow  and  muddy,  and  the  air  was  impregnated 
with  filthy  odors.  There  were  a  good  many  small 
shops;  but  the  only  stock-in-trade  appeared  to  be 
heaps  of  children,  who,  even  at  that  time  of  night, 
were  crawling  in  and  out  at  the  doors,  or  screaming 
from  the  inside.  The  sole  places  that  seemed  to 
prosper  amidst  the  general  blight  of  the  j  lace  were 
the  public-houses ;  and  in  them  the  lowest  orders  of 
Irish  were  wrangling  with  might  and  main.  Cov 
ered  ways  and  yards,  which  here  and  there  diverged 
from  the  main  street,  disclosed  little  knots  of  houses, 
where  drunken  men  and  women  were  positively  wal 
lowing  in  filth*;  and  from  several  of  the  door-ways, 
great  ill-looking  fellows  were  cautiously  emerging, 
bound,  to  all  appearance,  on  no  very  well-disposed 
or  harmless  errands. 

Oliver  was  just  considering  whether  he  hadn't  bet 
ter  run  away,  when  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
hill.  His  conductor,  catching  him  by  the  arm,  push 
ed  open  the  door  of  a  house  near  Field  Lane ;  and, 
drawing  him  into  the  passage,  closed  it  behind  them. 

"  Now,  then !"  cried  a  voice  from  below,  in  reply  to 
a  whistle  from  the  Dodger. 

"  Plummy  and  slam !"  was  the  reply. 

This  seemed  to  be  some  watch-word  or  signal  that 
all  was  right ;  for  the  light  of  a  feeble  candle  gleam 
ed  on  the  wall  at  the  remote  end  of  the  passage; 
and  a  man's  face  peeped  out  from  where  a  balus 


trade  of  the  old  kitchen  staircase  had  been  broken 
away. 

"  There's  two  on  you,"  said  the  man,  thrusting  the 
candle  farther  out,  and  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand.  "  Who's  the  t'other  one  f ' 

"A  new  pal,"  replied  Jack  Dawkins,  pulling  Oli 
ver  forward. 

"  Where  did  he  come  from  ?" 

"  Greenland.     Is  Fagin  up  stairs  ?" 

"Yes;  he's  a  sortiif  the  wipes.  Up  with  you!" 
The  candle  was  drawn  back,  and  the  face  disap 
peared. 

Oliver,  groping  his  way  with  one  hand,  and  hav 
ing  the  other  firmly  grasped  by  his  companion,  as 
cended  with  much  difficulty  the  dark  and  broken 
stairs ;  which  his  conductor  mounted  with  an  ease 
and  expedition  that  showed  he  was  well  acquainted 
with  them.  He  threw  open  the  door  of  a  back-room, 
and  drew  Oliver  in  after  him. 

The  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  room  were  perfectly 
black  with  age  and  dirt.  There  was  a  deal  table  be 
fore  the  fire :  upon  which  were  a  candle  stuck  in  a 
ginger-beer  bottle,  two  or  three  pewter  pots,  a  loaf 
and  butter,  and  a  plate.  In  a  frying-pan,  which  was 
on  tlie  fire,  and  which  was  secured  to*the  mantel 
shelf  by  a  string,  some  sausages  were  cooking ;  and 
standing  over  them,  with  a  toasting-fork  in  his  hand, 
was  a  very  old,  shriveled  Jew,  whose  villainous-look 
ing  and  repulsive  face  was  obscured  by  a  quantity  of 
matted  red  hair.  He  was  dressed  in  a  greasy  flannel 
gown,  with  his  throat  bare ;  and  seemed  to  be  divid 
ing  his  attention  between  the  frying-pan  and  a 
clothes-horse,  over  which  a  great  number  of  silk 
handkerchiefs  were  hanging.  Several  rough  beds, 
made  of  old  sacks,  were  huddled  side  by  side  on  the 
floor.  Seated  round  the  table  were  four  or  five  boys, 
none  older  than  the  Dodger,  smoking  long  clay  pipes 
and  drinking  spirits,  with  the  air  of  middle-aged 
men.  These  all  crowded  about  their  associates  as 
he  whispered  a  few  words  to  the  Jew;  and  then 
turned  round  and  grinned  at  Oliver.  So  did  the  Jew 
tiimself,  toasting-fork  in  hand. 

"This  is  him,  Fagin,"  said  Jack  Dawkins;  "my 
friend  Oliver  Twist." 

The  Jew  grinned ;  and,  making  a  low  obeisance  to 
Oliver,  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  hoped  he  should 
have  the  honor  of  his  intimate  acquaintance.  Upon 
this,  the  young  gentlemen  with  the  pipes  came  round 
him,  and  shook  both  his  hands  very  hard — especial 
ly  the  one  in  which  he  held  his  little  bundle.  One 
young  gentleman  was  very  anxious  to  hang  up  his 
cap  for  him ;  and  another  was  so  obliging  as  to  put 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  in  order  that,  as  he  was  very 
tired,  he  might  not  have  the  trouble  of  emptying 
them  himself  when  he  went  to  bed.  These  civilities 
would  probably  have  been  extended  much  farther, 
but  for  a  liberal  exercise  of  the  Jew's  toasting-fork 
on  the  heads  and  shoulders  of  the  affectionate  youths 
who  offered  them. 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,  Oliver,  very,"  said 
the  Jew.  "  Dodger,  take  off  the  sausages  ;  and  draw 
a  tub  near  the  fire  for  Oliver.  Ah,  you're  a-staring 
at  the  pocket-handkerchiefs!  eh,  my  dear!  There 
are  a  good  many  of  'em,  ain't  there?  We've  just 
looked  'em  out,  ready  for  the  wash ;  that's  all,  Oli 
ver—that's  all.  Ha !  ha !  ha !" 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  hailed  by  a  bois 
terous  shout  from  all  the  hopeful  pupils  of  the  merry 
old  gentleman;  in  the  midst  of  which  they  went  to 
supper. 

Oliver  ate  his  share,  and  the  Jew  then  mixed  him 
n  glass  of  hot  gin  and  water:  telling  him  he  must 
drink  it  off  directly,  because  another  gentleman 
wanted  the  tumbler.  Oliver  did  as  he  was  desired. 
Immediately  afterward  he  felt  himself  gently  lifted 
on  to  one  of  the  sacks;  and  then  he  sunk  into  a 
deep  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONTAINING    FARTHER    PARTICULARS    CONCERNING    THE 
PLEASANT  OLD  GENTLEMAN  AND  HIS  HOPEFUL  PUPILS. 

IT  was  late  next  morning  when  Oliver  awoke,  from 
a  sound,  long  sleep.  There  was  no  other  person 
in  the  room  but  the  old  Jew,  who  was  boiling  some 
coffee  in  a  saucepan  for  breakfast,  and  whistling 
softly  to  himself  as  he  stirred  it  round  and  round 
with  an  iron  spoon.  He  would  stop  every  now  and 
then  to  listen  when  there  was  the  least  noise  below ; 
and  when  h«  had  satisfied  himself,  he  would  go  on, 
whistling  and  stirring  again,  as  before. 

Although  Oliver  had  roused  himself  from  sleep,  he 
was  not  thoroughly  awake.  There  is  a  drowsy  state, 
between  sleeping  and  waking,  when  you  dream  more 
in  five  minutes  with  your  eyes  half  open,  and  your 
self  half  conscious  of  every  thing  that  is  passing 
around  you,  than  you  would  in  five  nights  with  your 
eyes  fast  closed,  and  your  senses  wrapped  in  perfect 
unconsciousness.  At  such  times,  a  mortal  knows 
just  enough  of  what  his  mind  is  doing,  to  form  some 
glimmering  conception  of  its  mighty  powers,  its 
bounding  from  earth  and  spurning  time  and  space, 
when  freed  from  the  restraint  of  its  corporeal  asso 
ciate. 

Oliver  was  precisely  in  this  condition.  He  saw 
the  Jew  with  his  half-closed  eyes;  heard  his  low 
Avhistling ;  and  recognized  the  sound  of  the  spoou 
grating  against  the  saucepan's  sides ;  and  yet  the 
self-same  senses  were  mentally  engaged,  at  the  same 
time,  in  busy  action  with  almost  every  body  he  had 
ever  known. 

When  the  coffee  was  done,  the  Jew  drew  the  sauce 
pan  to  the  hob.  Standing,  then,  in  an  irresolute  at 
titude  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if  he  did  not  well  know 
how  to  employ  himself,  he  turned  round  and  looked 
at  Oliver,  and  called  him  by  his  name.  He  did  not 
answer,  and  was  to  all  appearance  asleep. 

After  satisfying  himself  upon  this  head,  the  Jew 
stepped  gently  to  the  door :  which  he  fastened.  He 
then  drew  forth,  as  it  seemed  to  Oliver,  from  some 
trap  in  the  floor,  a  small  box,  which  he  placed  care 
fully  on  the  table.  His  eyes  glistened  as  he  raised 
the  lid  and  looked  in.  Dragging  an  old  chair  to  the 
table,  he  sat  down  ;  and  took  from  it  a  magnificent 
gold  watch,  sparkling  with  jewels. 

"Aha!"  said  the  Jew,  shrugging  up  his  shoulders, 
and  distorting  every  feature  with  a  hideous  grin. 
•'  Clever  dogs !  Clever  do'gs !  Staunch  to  the  last ! 
Never  told  the  old  parson  where  they  were.  Never 
peached  upon  old  Fagin !  And  why  should  they  ? 
It  wouldn't  have  loosened  the  knot,  or  kept  the  drop 


up,  a  minute  longer.  No,  110,  no !  Fine  fellows ! 
Fine  fellows !'' 

With  these,  and  other  muttered  reflections  of  the 
like  nature,  the  Jew  once  more  deposited  the  watch 
in  its  place  of  safety.  At  least  half  a  dozen  more 
were  severally  drawn  forth  from  the  same  box,  and 
surveyed  with  equal  pleasure  ;  besides  rings,  brooch 
es,  bracelets,  and  other  articles  of  jewelry,  of  such 
magnificent  materials,  and  costly  workmanship,  that 
Oliver  had  no  idea  even  of  their  names. 

Having  replaced  these  trinkets,  the  Jew  took  out 
another,  so  small  that  it  lay  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
There  seemed  to  be  some  very  minute  inscription  on 
it ;  for  the  Jew  laid  it  flat  upon  the  table,  and,  shad 
ing  it  with  his  hand,  pored  over  it,  long  and  earnest 
ly.  At  length  he  put  it  down,  as  if  despairing  of 
success,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  muttered : 

"  What  a  fine  thing  capital  punishment  is  !>  Dead 
men  never  repent ;  dead  men  never  bring  awkward 
stories  to  light.  Ah,  it's  a  fine  thing  for  the  trade ! 
Five  of  'em  strung  up  in  a  row,  and  none  left  to  play 
booty,  or  turn  white-livered !" 

As  the  Jew  uttered  these  words,  his  bright  dark 
eyes,  which  had  been  staring  vacantly  before  him, 
fell  on  Oliver's  face  ;  the  boy's  eyes  were  fixed  on  his 
in  mute  curiosity ;  and  although  the  recognition  was 
only  for  an  instant — for  the  briefest  space  of  time 
that  can  possibly  be  conceived — it  was  enough  to 
show  the  old  man  that  he  had  been  observed.  He 
closed  the  lid  of  the  box  with  a  loud  crash  ;  and,  lay 
ing  his  hand  on  a  bread-knife  which  was  on  the  ta 
ble,  started  furiously  up.  He  trembled  very  much 
though  ;  for,  even  in  his  terror,  Oliver  could  see  that 
the  knife  quivered  in  the  air. 

"What's  that?"  said  the  Jew.  "What  do  you 
watch  me  for  ?  Why  are  you  awake  ?  What  have 
you  seen?  Spe»k  out,  boy!  Quick  —  quick!  for 
your  life !" 

"  I  wasn't  able  to  sleep  any  longer,  sir,"  replied 
Oliver,  meekly.  "  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  have  disturbed 
you,  sir." 

"  You  were  not  awake  an  hour  ago  ?"  said  the  Jew, 
scowling  fiercely  on  the  boy. 

"  No !     No,  indeed !"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?"  cried  the  Jew,  with  a  still  fiercer 
look  than  before,  and  a  threatening  attitude. 

"  Upon  my  word  I  was  not,  sir,"  replied  Oliver, 
earnestly.  "  I  was  not,  indeed,  sir." 

"  Tush,  tush,  my  dear !"  said  the  Jew,  abruptly  re 
suming  his  old  manner,  and  playhig  with  the  knife 
a  little,  before  he  laid  it  down ;  as  if  to  induce  the 
belief  that  he  had  caught  it  up  in  mere  sport.  "  Of 
course  I  know  that,  my  dear.  I  only  tried  to  frighten 
you.  You're  a  brave  boy.  Ha!  ha!  you're  a  brave 
boy,  Oliver!"  The  Jew  rubbed  his  hands  with  a 
chuckle,  but  glanced  uneasily  at  the  box,  notwith 
standing. 

"  Did  you  see  any  of  these  pretty  things,  my  dear  ?" 
said  the  Jew,  laying  his  hand  upon  it  after  a  short 
pause. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Jew,  turning  rather  pale.  "They 
— they're  mine,  Oliver;  my  little  property.  All  I 
have  to  live  upon,  in  my  old  age.  The  folks  call  me 
a  miser,  my  dear.  Only  a  miser  ;  that's  all." 

Oliver  thought  the  old  gentleman  must  be  a  de- 


IN  THE  PLEASANT  OLD   GENTLEMAN'S  HOUSE. 


33 


elded  ruiser  to  live  in  snch  a  dirty  place,  with  so 
many  watches ;  but,  thinking  that  perhaps  his  fond 
ness  for  the  Dodger  and  the  other  boys  cost  him  a 
good  deal  of  money,  he  only  cast  a  deferential  look 
at  the  Jew,  and  asked  if  he  might  get  up. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  certainly,"  replied  the  old 
gentleman.'  "  Stay.  There's  a  pitcher  of  water  in 
the  corner  by  the  door.  Bring  it  here ;  and  I'll  give 
you  a  basin  to  wash  in,  my  dear." 

Oliver  got  up ;  walked  across  the  room ;  and  stoop 
ed  for  an  instant  to  raise  the  pitcher.  When  he  turned 
his  head,  the  box  was  gone. 

He  had  scarcely  washed  himself,  and  made  every 
thing  tidy  by  emptying  the  basin  out  of  the  win 
dow,  agreeably  to  the  Jew's  directions,  when  the 
Dodger  returned,  accompanied  by  a  very  sprightly 
young  friend,  whom  Oliver  had  seen  smoking  on  the 
previous  night,  and  who  was  now  formally  intro 
duced  to  him  as  Charley  Bates.  The  four  sat  down, 
to  breakfast  on  the  coffee,  and  some  hot  rolls  and  ham 
which  the  Dodger  had  brought  home  in  the  crown  of 
Ms  hat. 

"Well,"  said  the  Jew,  glancing  slyly  at  Oliver, 
and  addressing  himself  to  the  Dodger,  "I  hope 
you've  been  at  work  this  morning,  my  dears  ?" 

"  Hard,"  replied  the  Dodger. 

"As  Xails,"  added  Charley  Bates. 

"Good  boys,  good  boys!"  said  the  Jew.  "What 
have  you  got,  Dodger  ?" 

"A  cbuple  of  pocket-books,"  replied  that  young 
gentleman. 

"  Lined  ?"  inquired  the  Jew,  with  eagerness. 

"  Pretty  well,"  replied  the  Dodger,  producing  two 
pocket-books ;  one  green,  and  the  other  red. 

'•  Xot  so  heavy  as  they  might  be,"  said  the  Jew, 
after  looking  at  the  insides  carefully;  "but  very 
neat  and  nicely  made.  Ingenious  workman,  ain't  he, 
Oliver  ?" 

"Very,  indeed,  sir,"  said  Oliver.  At  which  Mr. 
Charles  Bates  laughed  uproariously;  very  much  to 
the  amazement  of  Oliver,  who  saw  nothing  to  laugh 
at  in  any  thing  that  had  passed. 

"  And  what  have  you  got,  my  dear  ?"  said  Fagin 
to  Charley  Bates. 

'•Wipes,"  replied  Master  Bates;  at  the  same  time 
producing  four  pocket-handkerchiefs. 

"Well,"  said  the  Jew,  inspecting  them  closely; 
"  they're  very  good  ones,  very.  YOTI  haven't  marked 
them  well,  though,  Charley ;  so  the  marks  shall  be 
picked  out  with  a  needle,  and  we'll  teach  Oliver  how 
to  do  it.  Shall  us,  Oliver,  eh  ?  Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Oliver. 

"  You'd  like  to  be  able  to  make  pocket  -  handker 
chiefs  as  easy  as  Charley  Bates,  wouldn't  you,  my 
den  r  ?''  said  the  Jew. 

"Very  much,  indeed,  if  youll  teach  me,  sir,"  replied 
Oliver. 

Master  Bates  saw  something  so  exquisitely  ludi 
crous  in  this  reply,  that  he  burst  into  another  laugh ; 
which  laugh,  meeting  the  coffee  he  was  drinking, 
and  carrying  it  down  some  wrong  channel,  very  near 
ly  terminated  in  his  premature  suffocation. 

"  He  is  so  jolly  green !"  said  Charley  when  he  re 
covered,  as  an  apology  to  the  company  for  his  unpo- 
lite  behavior. 

The  Dodger  said  nothing,  but  he  smoothed  Oliver's 
0 


hair  over  his  eyes,  and  said  he'd  know  better  by-and- 
by ;  upon  which  the  old  gentleman,  observing  Oliver's 
color  mounting,  changed  the  subject  by  asking  wheth 
er  there  had  been  much  of  a  crowd  at  the  execution 
that  morning?  This  made  him  wonder  more  and 
more ;  for  it  was  plain  from  the  replies  of  the  two 
boys  that  they  had  both  been  there ;  and  Oliver  nat 
urally  wondered  how  they  could  possibly  have  found 
time  to  be  so  very  industrious. 

When  the  breakfast  was  cleared  away,  the  merry 
old  gentleman  and  the  two  boys  played  at  a  very 
curious  and  uncommon  game,  which  was  performed 
in  this  way:  The  merry  old  gentleman,  placing  a 
snuff-box  in  one  pocket  of  his  trowsers,  a  note-case 
in  the  other,  and  a  watch  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
with  a  guard-chain  round  his  neck,  and  sticking  a 
mock  -  diamond  pin  in  his  shirt,  buttoned  his  coat 
tight  around  him,  and  putting  his  spectacle-case  and 
handkerchief  in  his  pockets,  trotted  up  and  down 
the  room  with  a  stick,  in  imitation  of  the  manner  in 
which  old  gentlemen  walk  about  the  streets  any  hour 
in  the  day.  Sometimes  he  stopped  at  the  fire-place, 
and  sometimes  at  the  door,  making  believe  that  he 
was  staring  with  all  his  might  into  shop  -  windows. 
At  such  times  he  would  look  constantly  round  him, 
for  fear  of  thieves,  and  would  keep  slapping  all  his 
pockets  in  turn,  to  see  that  he  hadn't  lost  any  thing, 
in  such  a  very  funny  and  natural  manner,  that  Oli 
ver  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  face.  All  this 
time  the  two  boys  followed  him  closely  about,  get 
ting  out  of  his  sight,  so  nimbly,  every  time  he  turned 
round,  that  it  was  impossible  to  follow  their  motions. 
At  last,  the  Dodger  trod  upon  his  toes,  or  ran  upon 
his  boot  accidentally,  while  Charley  Bates  stumbled 
up  against  him  behind ;  and  in  that  one  moment  they 
took  from  him,  with  the  most  extraordinary  rapid 
ity,  snuff-box,  note-case,  watch-guard,  chain,  shirt- 
pin,  pocket-handkerchief,  even  the  spectacle-case. 
If  the  old  gentleman  felt  a  hand  in  any  one  of  his 
pockets,  he  cried  out  where  it  was;  and  then  the 
game  began  all  over  again. 

When  this  game  had  been  played  a  great  many 
times,  a  couple  of  young  ladies  called  to  see  the 
young  gentlemen  ;  one  of  whom  was  named  Bet,  and 
the  other  Nancy.  They  wore  a  good  deal  of  hair, 
not  very  neatly  turned  up  behind,  and  were  rather 
untidy  about  the  shoes  and  stockings.  They  were 
not  exactly  pretty,  perhaps ;  but  they  had  a  great 
deal  of  color  in  their  faces,  and  looked  quite  stout 
and  hearty.  Being  remarkably  free  and  agreeable 
in  their  manners,  Oliver  thought  them  very  nice  girls 
indeed.  As  there  is  no  doubt  they  were. 

These  visitors  stopped  a  long  time.  Spirits  were 
produced,  in  consequence  of  one  of  the  young  ladies 
complaining  of  a  coldness  in  her  inside ;  and  the  con 
versation  took  a  very  convivial  and  improving  turn. 
At  length  Charley  Bates  expressed  his  opinion  that 
it  was  time  to  pad  the  hoof.  This,  it  occurred  to 
Oliver,  must  be  French  for  going  out ;  for,  directly 
afterward,  the  Dodger,  and  Charley,  and  the  two 
young  ladies  went  away  together,  having  been  kind 
ly  furnished  by  the  amiable  old  Jew  with  money  to 
spend. 

"  There,  my  dear,"  said  Fagin.  "  That's  a  pleasant 
life,  isn't  it  ?  They  have  gone  out  for  the  day." 

"  Have  they  done  work,  sir  I"  inquired  Oliver. 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  Yes,"  said  the  Jew ;  "  that  is,  unless  they  should 
unexpectedly  come  across  any  when  they  are  out ; 
and  they  won't  neglect  it,  if  they  do,  my  dear,  de 
pend  upon  it.  Make  'em  your  models,  my  dear. 
Make  'em  your  models,"  tapping  the  fire-shovel  on 
the  hearth  to  add  force  to  his  words:  "do  every 
thing  they  bid  you,  and  take  their  advice  in  all  mat 
ters — especially  the  Dodger's,  my  dear.  He'll  be  a 
great  man  himself,  and  will  make  you  one  too,  if  you 
take  pattern  by  him. — Is  my  handkerchief  hanging 
out  of  my  pocket,  my  dear  ?"  said  the  Jew,  stopping 
short. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Oliver. 

"  See  if  you  can  take  it  out,  without  my  feeling 
it,  as  you  saw  them  do  when  we  were  at  play  this 
morning." 

Oliver  held  up  the  bottom  of  the  pocket  with  one 
hand,  as  he  had  seen  the  Dodger  hold  it,  and  drew 
the  handkerchief  lightly  out  of  it  with  the  other. 

"  Is  it  gone  ?"  cried  the  Jew. 

"  Here  it  is,  sir,"  said  Oliver,  showing  it  in  his 
hand. 

"  You're  a  clever  boy,  my  dear,7*  said  the  playful 
old  gentleman,  patting  Oliver  on  the  head  approv 
ingly.  "  I  never  saw  a  sharper  lad.  Here's  a  shil 
ling  for  you.  If  you  go  on  in  this  way,  you'll  be  the 
greatest  man  of  the  time.  And  now  come  here,  and 
I'll  show  you  how  to  take  the  marks  out  of  the  hand 
kerchiefs." 

Oliver  wondered  what  picking  the  old  gentleman's 
pocket  in  play  had  to  do  with  his  chances  of  being 
a  great  man.  But,,  thinking  that  the  Jew,  being  so 
much  his  senior^  must  know  best,  he  followed  him 
quietly  to  the  table,  and  was  soon  deeply  involved 
in  his  new  study. 


CHAPTER  X. 

OLIVER  BECOMES  BETTER  ACQUAINTED  WITH  THE  CHAR 
ACTERS  OF  HIS  NEW  ASSOCIATES,  AND  PURCHASES  EX 
PERIENCE  AT  A  HIGH  PRICE.  BEING  A  SHORT  BUT 
VERT  IMPORTANT  CHAPTER  IN  THIS  HISTORY. 

FOR  many  days  Oliver  remained  in  the  Jew's 
room,  picking  the  marks  out  of  the  pocket-hand 
kerchiefs,  (of  which  a  great  number  were  brought 
home,)  and  sometimes  taking  part  in  the  game  al 
ready  described,  which  the  two  boys  and  the  Jew 
played,  regularly,  every  morning.  At  length  he  be 
gan  to  languish  for  fresh  air,  and  took  many  occa 
sions  of  earnestly  entreating  the  old  gentleman  to 
allow  him  to  go  out  to  work,  with  his  two  com 
panions. 

Oliver  was  rendered  the  more  anxious  to  be  act 
ively  employed,  by  what  he  had  seen  of  the  stern 
morality  of  the  old  gentleman's  character.  When 
ever  the  Dodger  or  Charley  Bates  came  home  at 
night  empty-handed,  he  would  expatiate  with  great 
vehemence  on  the  misery  of  idle  and  lazy  habits ;  and 
would  enforce  upon  them  the  necessity  of  an  active 
life,  by  sending  them  supperless  to  bed.  On  one  oc 
casion,  indeed,  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  knock  them 
both  down  a  flight  of  stairs ;  but  this  was  carrying 
out  his  virtuous  precepts  to  an  unusual  extent. 

At  length,  one  morning,  Oliver  obtained  the  per 
mission  he  had  so  eagerly  sought.  There  had  been 


no  handkerchiefs  to  work  upon  for  two  or  three 
days,  and  the  dinners  had  been  rather  meagre.  Per 
haps  these  were  reasons  for  the  old  gentleman's  giv 
ing  his  assent ;  but,  whether  they  were  or  no,  he  told 
Oliver  he  might  go,  and  placed  him  under  the  joint 
guardianship  of  Charley  Bates  and  his  Mend  the 
Dodger. 

The  three  boys  sallied  out ;  the  Dodger  Avith  his 
coat-sleeves  tucked  up,  and  his  hat  cocked,  as  xisual ; 
'Master  Bates  sauntering  along  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets ;  and  Oliver  between  them,  wondering  where 
they  were  going,  and  what  branch  of  manufacture 
he  would  be  instructed  in  first. 

The  pace  at  which  they  went  was  such  a  very 
lazy,  ill-looking  saunter,  that  Oliver  soon  began  to 
think  his  companions  were  going  to  deceive  the 
old  gentleman,  by  not  going  to  work  at  all.  The 
Dodger  had  a  vicious  propensity,  too,  of  pulling  the 
caps  from  the  heads  of  small  boys  and  tossing  them 
down  areas;  while  Charley  Bates  exhibited  some 
very  loose  notions  concerning  the  rights  of  property, 
by  pilfering  divers  apples  and  onions  from  the  stalls 
at  the  kennel  sides,  and  thrusting  them  into  pock 
ets  which  were  so  surprisingly  capacious,  that  they 
seemed  to  undermine  his  whole  suit  of  clothes  in  ev 
ery  direction.  These  things  looked  so  bad  that  Ol 
iver  was  on  the  point  of  declaring  his  intention  of 
seeking  his  Avay  back  in  the  best  way  he  could; 
when  his  thoughts  were  suddenly  directed  into  an 
other  channel  by  a  very  mysterious  change  of  be 
havior  on  the  part  of  the  Dodger. 

They  were  just  emerging  from  a  narrow  court  not 
far  from  the  open  square  in  Clerkeuwell,  which  is 
yet  called,  by  some  strange  perversion  of  terms,  "  The 
Green,"  when  the  Dodger  made  a  sudden  stop ;  and, 
laying  his  finger  on  his  lip,  drew  his  companions 
back  again,  with  the  greatest  caution  and  circum 
spection. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  Oliver. 

"  Hush !"  replied  the  Dodger.  "  Do  you  see  that 
old  cove  at  the  book-stall  ?" 

"  The  old  gentleman  over  the  way  ?"  said  Oliver. 
"  Yes,  I  see  him." 

"  He'll  do,"  said  the  Dodger. 

"A  prime  plant,"  observed  Master  Charley  Bates. 

Oliver  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  with  the 
greatest  surprise ;  but  he  was  not  permitted  to  make 
any  inquiries;  for  the  two  boys  walked  stealthily 
across  the  road,  and  slunk  close  behind  the  old  gen 
tleman  toward  whom  his  attention  had  been  direct 
ed.  Oliver  walked  a  few  paces  after  them ;  and,  not 
knowing  whether  to  advance  or  retire,  stood  looking 
on  in  silent  amazement. 

The  old  gentleman  was  a  very  respectable-looking 
personage,  with  a  powdered  head  and  gold  specta 
cles.  He  was  dressed  in  a  bottle-green  coat  with  a 
black  velvet  collar ;  wore  white  trowsers ;  and  car 
ried  a  smart  bamboo  cane  under  his  arm.  He  had 
taken  up  a  book  from  the  stall,  and  there  he  stood, 
reading  away  as  hard  as  if  he  were  in  his  elbow- 
chair  in  his  own  study.  It  is  very  possible  that  he 
fancied  himself  there,  indeed ;  for  it  was  plain,  from 
his  abstraction,  that  he  saw  not  the  book-stall,  nor 
the  street,  nor  the  boys,  nor,  in  short,  any  thing 
but  the  book  itself,  which  he  was  reading  straight 
through,  turning  over  the  leaf  when  he  got  to  the 


OUT  FOR  A   WALK. 


35 


bottom  of  a  page,  beginning  at  the  top  line  of  the 
next  one,  and  going  regularly  on,  with  the  greatest 
interest  and  eagerness. 

What  was  Oliver's  horror  and  alarm  as  he  stood  a 
few  paces  off,  looking  on  with  his  eyelids  as  wide 
open  as  they  would  possibly  go,  to  see  the  Dodger 
plunge  his  hand  into  the  old  gentleman's  pocket, 
and  draw  from  thence  a  handkerchief!  To  see  him 
hand  the  same  to  Charley  Bates ;  and  finally  to  be 
hold  them  both  running  away  round  the  corner  at 
full  speed ! 

In  an  instant  the  whole  mystery  of  the  handker 
chiefs,  and  the  watches,  and  the  jewels,  and  the  Jew, 


But  the  old  gentleman  was  not  the  only  person 
who  raised  the  hue-aud-cry.  The  Dodger  and  Mas 
ter  Bates,  unwilling  to  attract  public  attention  by 
running  down  the  open  street,  had"  merely  retired 
into  the  very  first  door-way  round  the  corner.  They 
no  sooner  heard  the  cry,  and  saw  Oliver  running, 
than,  guessing  exactly  how  the  matter  stood,  they 
issued  forth  with  great  promptitude;  and,  shouting 
"  Stop  thief!"  too,  joined  in  the  pursuit  like  good  cit 
izens. 

Although  Oliver  had  been  brought  Tip  by  philos 
ophers,  he  was  not  theoretically  acquainted  with  the 
beautiful  axiom  that  self-preservation  is  the  first  law 


"  STOP   TllIKi'1  ." 


rushed  upon  the  boy's  mind.  He  stood,  for .  a  mo 
ment,  with  the  blood  so  tingling  through  all  his 
veins  from  terror,  that  he  felt  as  if  he  were  in  a 
burning  fire ;  then,  confused  and  frightened,  he  took 
to  his  heels ;  and,  not  knowing  what  he  did,  made 
off  as  fast  as  he  could  lay  his  feet  to  the  ground. 

This  was  all  done  in  a  minute's  space.  In  the 
very  instant  when  Oliver  began  to  run,  the  old  gen 
tleman,  putting  his  band  to  his  pocket,  and  miss 
ing  his  handkerchief,  turned  sharp  round.  Seeing 
the  boy  scudding  away  at  such  a  rapid  pace,  he  very 
natiirally  concluded  him  to  be  the  depredator ;  and, 
shouting  "Stop  thief!"  with  all  his  might, made  off 
after  him,  book  in  hand. 


of  nature.  If  he  had  been,  perhaps  he  would  have 
been  prepared  for  this.  Not  being  prepared,  how 
ever,  it  alarmed  him  the  more ;  so  away  he  went  like 
the  wind,  with  the  old  gentleman  and  the  two  boys 
roaring  and  shouting  behind  him. 

"  Stop  thief!  Stop  thief!"  There  is  a  magic  in 
the  sound.  The  tradesman  leaves  his  counter,  and 
the  carman  his  wagon;  the  butcher  throws  down 
his  tray ;  the  baker  his  basket  ;.  the  milkman  his 
pail ;  the  errand-boy  his  parcels ;  the  school-boy  his 
marbles ;  the  pavior  his  pick-axe ;  the  child  his  bat- 
tledoor.  Away  they  run,  pell-mell,  helter-skelter, 
slap -dash:  tearing,  yelling,  screaming,  knocking 
down  the  passengers  as  they  turn  the  corners,  rous- 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


ing  up  the  dogs,  and  astonishing  the  fowls;  and 
streets,  squares,  and  courts,  re-echo  with  the  sound. 

"  Stop  thief!  Stop  thief!"  The  cry  is  taken  up 
by  a  hundred  voices,  and  the  crowd  accumulate  at 
every  turning.  Away  they  fly,  splashing  through 
the  mud,  and  rattling  along  the  pavements :  up  go 
the  windows,  out  run  the  people,  onward  bear  the 
mob — a  whole  audience  desert  Punch  in  the  very 
thickest  of  the  plot,  and,  joining  the  rushing  throng, 
swell  the  shout,  and  lend  fresh  vigor  to  the  cry, "  Stop 
thief!  Stop  thief!" 

"Stop  thief  I"  Stop  thief!"  There  is  a  passion 
for  hunting  something  deeply  implanted  in  the  human 
breast.  One  wretched  breathless  child,  panting  with 
exhaustion ;  terror  in  his  looks ;  agony  in  his  eyes ; 
large  drops  of  perspiration  streaming  down  his  face ; 
strains  every  nerve  to  make  head  upon  his  pursuers ; 
and  as  they  follow  on  his  track,  and  gain  upon  him 
every  instant,  they  hail  his  decreasing  strength  with 
still  louder  shouts,  and  whoop  and  scream  with  joy. 
"  Stop  thief!"  Ay,  stop  him,  for  God's  sake,  were  it 
only  in  mercy ! 

Stopped  at  last!  A  clever  blow.  He  is  down 
upon  the  pavement ;  and  the  crowd  eagerly  gather 
•  round  him :  each  new-comer  jostling  and  struggling 
with  the  others  to  catch  a  glimpse.  "  Stand  aside !" 
"Give  him  a  little  air!"  "Nonsense!  he  don't  de 
serve  it !"  "  Where's  the  gentleman  f"  "  Here  he 
is,  coming  down  the  street."  "  Make  room  there  for 
the  gentleman !"  "  Is  this  the  boy,  sir  ?"  "  Yes." 

Oliver  lay,  covered  with  mud  and  dust,  and  bleed 
ing  from  the  mouth,  looking  wildly  round  upon  the 
heap  of  faces  that  surrounded  him,  when  the  old 
gentleman  was  officiously  dragged  and  pushed  into 
the  circle  by  the  foremost  of  the  pursuers. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  am  afraid  it  is  the 
boy." 

"Afraid!" murmured  the  crowd.  "That's  a  good 
'un !" 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  the  gentleman,  "  he  has  hurt 
himself." 

"  /  did  that,  sir,"  said  a  great  lubberly  fellow,  step 
ping  forward ;  "  and  preciously  I  cut  my  knuckle 
agin'  his  mouth.  I  stopped  him,  sir." 

The  fellow  touched  his  hat  with  a  grin,  expecting 
something  for  his  pains ;  but  the  old  gentleman,  ey 
ing  him  with  an  expression  of  dislike,  looked  anx 
iously  round,  as  if  he  contemplated  running  away 
himself:  which  it  is  very  possible  he  might  have  at- 
.tempted  to  do,  and  thus  have  afforded  another  chase, 
had  not  a  police  officer  (who  is  generally  the  last  per 
son  to  arrive  in  such  cases)  at  that  moment  made 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  seized  Oliver  by 
the  collar. 

"  Come,  get  up,"  said  the  man,  roughly. 

"  It  wasn't  me  indeed,  sir.  Indeed,  indeed,  it  was 
two  other  boys,"  said  Oliver,  clasping  his  hands  pas 
sionately,  and  looking  round.  "  They  are  here  some 
where." 

"  Oh  no,  they  ain't,"  said  the  officer.  He  meant 
this  to  be  ironical,  but  it  was  true  besides ;  for  the 
Dodger  and  Charley  Bates  had  filed  off  down  the  first 
convenient  court  they  came  to.  "  Come,  get  up !" 

"  Don't  hurt  him,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  compas 
sionately. 

"  Oh  no,  I  won't  hurt  him,"  replied  the   officer, 


tearing  his  jacket  half  off  his  back,  in  proof  thereof. 
"  Come,  I  kuow  you ;  it  won't  do.  Will  you  stand 
upon  your  legs,  you  young  devil  ?" 

Oliver,' who  could  hardly  stand,  made  a  shift  to 
raise  himself  on  his  feet,  and  was  at  once  lugged 
along  the  streets  by  the  jacket-collar  at  a  rapid  pace. 
The  gentleman  walked  on  with  them  by  the  officer's 
side ;  and  as  many  of  the  crowd  as  could  achieve  the 
feat  got  a  little  ahead,  and  stared  back  at  Oliver 
from  time  to  time.  The  boys  shouted  in  triumph ; 
and  on  they  went. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TKEATS  OF  MR.  FANG,  THE  POLICE  MAGISTRATE  ;  AND 
FURNISHES  A  SLIGHT  SPECIMEN  OF  HIS  MODE  OF  AD 
MINISTERING  JUSTICE. 

THHE  offense  had  been  committed  within  the  dis- 
JL  trict,  and  indeed  in  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of,  a  very  notorious  metropolitan  police  office.  The 
crowd  had  only  the  satisfaction  of  accompanying  Ol 
iver  through  two  or  three  streets,  and  down  a  place 
called  Mutton  Hill,  when  he  was  led  beneath  a  low 
archway,  and  up  a  dirty  court,  into  this  dispensary 
of  summary  justice,  by  the  back  way.  It  was  a  small 
paved  yard  into  which  they  turned ;  and  here  they 
encountered  a  stout  man  with  a  bunch  of  whiskers 
on  his  face,  and  a  bunch  of  keys  in  his  hand. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  said  the  man  carelessly. 

"A  young  fogle-hunter,"  replied  the  man  wrho  had 
Oliver  in  charge. 

"Are  you  the  party  that's  been  robbed,  sir?"  in 
quired  the  man  with  the  keys. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  replied  the  old  gentleman ;  "  but  I 
am  not  sure  that  this  boy  actually  took  the  hand 
kerchief.  I — I  would  rather  not  press  the  case." 

"  Must  go  before  the  magistrate  now,  sir,"  replied 
the  man.  "  His  worship  will  be  disengaged  in  half 
a  minute.  Now,  young  gallows !" 

This  was  an  invitation  for  Oliver  to  enter  through 
a  door  which  he  unlocked  as  he  spoke,  and  which 
led  into  a  stone  cell.  Here  he  was  searched,  and, 
nothing  being  found  upon  him,  locked  up. 

This  cell  was  in  shape  and  size  something  like  an 
area  cellar,  only  not  so  light.  It  was  most  intolera 
bly  dirty ;  for  it  was  Monday  morning ;  and  it  had 
been  tenanted  by  six  drunken  people,  who  had  been 
locked  up,  elsewhere,  since  Saturday  night.  But  this 
is  little.  In  our  station-houses,  men  and  women  are 
every  night  confined  on  the  most  trivial  charges — 
the  word  is  worth  noting — in  dungeons,  compared 
with  which,  those  in  Newgate,  occupied  by  the  most 
atrocious  felons,  tried,  found  guilty,  and  under  sen 
tence  of  death,  are  palaces.  Let  any  one  who  doubts 
this  compare  the  two. 

The  old  gentleman  looked  almost  as  rueful  as  Oli 
ver  when  the  key  grated  in  the  lock.  He  turned 
with  a  sigh  to  the  book,  which  had  been  the  innocent 
cause  of  all  this  disturbance.  • 

"  There  is  something  in  that  boy's  face,"  said  the 
old  gentleman  to  himself  as  he  walked  slowly  away, 
tapping  his  chin  with  the  cover  of  the  book,  in  a 
thoughtful  manner;  "something  that  touches  and 
interests  me.  Can  he  be  innocent  ?  He  looked  like. 


TAKEN  INTO  CUSTODY. 


37 


— By-tlie-bye,"  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman,  halting 
very  abruptly,  and  staring  up  into  the  sky,  "  Bless 
my  soul!  Where  have  I  seen  something  like  that 
look  before  ?" 

After  musing  for  some  minutes,  the  old  gentleman 
walked,  with  the  same  meditative  face,  into  a  back 
anteroom  opening  from  the  yard;  and  there,  retir 
ing  into  a  corner,  called  up  before  his  mind's  eye  a 
vast  amphitheatre  of  faces  over  which  a  dusky  cur 
tain  had  hung  for  many  years.  "  No,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  shaking  his  head ;  "  it  must  be  imagina 
tion." 

He  wandered  over  them  again.  He  had  called 
them  into  view,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  replace  the 
shroud  that  had  so  long  concealed  them.  There  were 
the  faces  of  friends,  and  foes,  and  of  many  that  had 
been  almost  strangers  peering  intrusively  from  the 
crowd ;  there  were  the  faces  of  young  and  blooming 
girls  that  were  now  old  women ;  there  were  faces 
that  the  grave  had  changed  and  closed  upon,  but 
which  the  mind,  superior  to  its  power,  still  dressed 
in  their  old  freshness  and  beauty,  calling  back  the 
lustre  of  the  eyes,  the  brightness  of  the  smile,  the 
beaming  of  the  soul  through  its  mask  of  clay,  and 
whispering  of  beauty  beyond  the  tomb,  changed  but 
to  be  heightened,  and  taken  from  earth  only  to  be  set 
up  as  a  light,  to  shed  a  soft  and  gentle  glow  upon 
the  path  to  heaven. 

But  the  old  gentleman  could  recall  no  one  counte 
nance  of  which  Oliver's  features  bore  a  trace.  So, 
he  heaved  a  sigh  over  the  recollections  he  had  awak 
ened  ;  and  being,  happily  for  himself,  an  absent  old 
gentleman,  buried  them  again  in  the  pages  of  the 
musty  book. 

He  was  roused  by  a  touch  on  the  shoulder,  and  a 
request  from  the  man  with  the  keys  to  follow  him 
into  the  office.  He  closed  his  book  hastily,  and  was 
at  once  ushered  into  the  imposing  presence  of  the 
renowned  Mr.  Fang. 

The  office  was  a  front  parlor,  with  a  paneled  wall. 
Mr.  Fang  sat  behind  a  bar,  at  the  upper  end ;  and  on 
one  side  the  door  was  a  sort  of  wooden  pen  in  which 
poor  little  Oliver  was  already  deposited ;  trembling 
very  much  at  the  awfulness  of  the  scene. 

Mr.  Fang  was  a  lean,  long-backed,  stiff-necked, 
middle-sized  man,  with  no  great  quantity  of  hair, 
and  what  he  had,  growing  on  the  back  and  sides  of 
his  head.  His  face  was  stern,  and  much  flushed.  If 
he  were  really  not  in  the  habit  of  drinking  rather 
more  than  was  exactly  good  for  him,  he  might  have 
brought  an  action  against  his  countenance  for  libel, 
and  have  recovered  heavy  damages. 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  respectfully ;  and  ad 
vancing  to  the  magistrate's  desk,  said,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  "  That  is  my  name  and  address, 
sir."  He  then  withdrew  a  pace  or  two ;  and,  with 
another  polite  and  gentlemanly  inclination  of  the 
head,  waited  to  be  questioned. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Fang  was  at  that 
moment  perusing  a  leading  article  in  a  newspaper 
of  the  morning,  adverting  to  some  recent  decision  of 
his,  and  commending  him,  for  the  three  hundred  and 
fiftieth  time,  to  the  special  and  particular  notice  of 
the  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Home  Department. 
He  was  out  of  temper;  and  he  looked  up  with  an 
angry  scowl. 


"Who  are  you  ?"  said  Mr.  Fang. 

The  old  gentleman  pointed,  with  some  surprise,  to 
his  card. 

"Officer!"  said  Mr.  Fang,  tossing  the  card  con 
temptuously  away  with  the  newspaper.  "Who  is 
this  fellow  f ' 

"  My  name,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  speaking 
like  a  gentleman,  "  my  name,  sir,  is  Brownlow.  Per 
mit  me  to  inquire  the  name  of  the  magistrate  who 
offers  a  gratuitous  and  unprovoked  insult  to  a  re 
spectable  person,  under  the  protection  of  the  bench." 
Saying  this,  Mr.  Brownlow  looked  round  the  office 
as  if  in  search  of  some  person  who  would  afford  him 
the  required  information. 

"  Officer !"  said  Mr.  Fang,  throwing  the  paper  on 
one  side,  "  what's  this  fellow  charged  with  ?" 

"  He's  not  charged  at  all,  your  worship,"  replied 
the  officer.  "  He  appears  against  the  boy,  your  wor 
ship." 

His  worship  knew  this  perfectly  well ;  but  it  was 
a  good  annoyance,  and  a  safe  one. 

"Appears  against  the  boy,  does  he?"  said  Fang, 
surveying  Mr.  Brownlow  contemptuously  from  head 
to  foot.  "  Swear  him !" 

"  Before  I  am  sworn,  I  must  beg  to  say  one  word," 
said  Mr.  Brownlow :  "  and  that  is,  that  I  really  nev 
er,  without  actual  experience,  could  have  believed — : 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Fang,  peremp 
torily. 

"  I  will  not,  sir !"  replied  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  this  instant,  or  I'll  have  you 
turned  out  of  the  office !"  said  Mr.  Fang.  "  You're 
an  insolent,  impertinent  fellow.  How  dare  you  bully 
a  magistrate  ?" 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman,  redden- 
jng. 

"  Swear  this  person,"  said  Fang  to  the  clerk.  "  I'll 
not  hear  another  word.  Swear  him." 

Mr.  Browulow's  indignation  was  greatly  roused ; 
but  reflecting,  perhaps,  that  he  might  only  injure  the 
boy  by  giving  vent  to  it,  he  suppressed  his  feelings 
and  submitted  to  be  sworn  at  once. 

"Now,"  said  Fang,  "what's  the  charge  against 
this  boy  ?  What  have  you  got  to  say,  Sir  ?" 

"  I  was  standing  at  a  book-stall — "  Mr.  Brownlow 
began. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Fang.  "  Police 
man  !  Where's  the  policeman  ?  Here,  swear  this 
policeman.  Now,  policeman,  what  is  this  ?" 

The  policeman,  with  becoming  humility,  related 
how  he  had  taken  the  charge ;  how  he  had  searched 
Oliver,  and  found  nothing  on  his  person ;  and  how 
that  was  all  he  knew  about  it. 

"  Are  there  any  witnesses  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Fang. 

"  None,  your  worship,"  replied  the  policeman. 

Mr.  Fang  sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  then, 
turning  round  to  the  prosecutor,  said  in  a  towering 
passion, 

"  Do  you  mean  to  state  what  your  complaint  against 
this  boy  is,  man,  or  do  yon  not  ?  You  have  been 
sworn.  Now,  if  you  stand  there,  refusing  to  give 
evidence,  I'll  punish  you  for  disrespect  to  the  bench  ; 
I  will,  by—" 

By  what,  or  by  whom,  nobody  knows,  for  the  clerk 
and  jailer  coughed  very  loud,  just  at  the  right  mo 
ment  ;  and  the  former  dropped  a  heavy  book  upon 


38 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


the  floor,  thus  preventing  the  word  from  being 
heard — accidentally,  of  course. 

With  many  interruptions,  and  repeated  insults, 
Mr.  Brownlow  contrived  to  state  his  case  ;  observing 
that,  in  the  surprise  of  the  moment,  he  had  run  after 
the  boy  because  he  saw  him  running  away ;  and  ex 
pressing  his  hope  that,  if  the  magistrate  should  be 
lieve  him,  although  not  actually  the  thief,  to  be  con 
nected  with  thieves,  he  would  deal  as  leniently  with 
him  as  justice  would  allow. 

"  He  has  been  hurt  already,"  said  the  old  gentle 
man,  in  conclusion.  "And  I  fear,"  he  added,  with 
great  energy,  looking  toward  the  bar,  "  I  really  fear 
that  he  is  ill." 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  dare  say !"  said  Mr.  Fang,  with  a  sneer. 
"  Come,  none  of  your  tricks  here,  you  young  vaga 
bond  ;  they  won't  do.  What's  your  name  ?" 

Oliver  tried  to  reply,  but  his  tongue  failed  him. 
He  was  deadly  pale ;  and  the  whole  place  seemed 
turning  round  and  round. 

"  What's  your  name,  you  hardened  scoundrel  ?"  de 
manded  Mr.  Fang.  "  Officer,  what's  his  name  ?" 

This  was  addressed  to  a  bluff  old  fellow  in  a  striped 
•waistcoat,  who  was  standing  by  the  bar.  He  bent 
over  Oliver,  and  repeated  the  inquiry ;  but  finding 
him  really  incapable  of  understanding  the  question, 
and  knowing  that  his  not  replying  would  only  in 
furiate  the  magistrate  the  more,  and  add  to  the  se 
verity  of  his  sentence,  he  hazarded  a  guess. 

"  He  says  his  name's  Tom  White,  your  worship," 
said  this  kind-hearted  thief-taker. 

"Oh,  he  won't  speak  out,  won't  he  ?"  said  Fang. 
"  Very  well,  very  well.  Where  does  he  live  ?" 

"  Where  he  can,  your  worship,"  replied  the  officer ; 
again  pretending  to  receive  Oliver's  answer. 

"  Has  he  any  parents  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Fang.  , 

"  He  says  they  died  in  his  infancy,  your  worship," 
replied  the  officer,  hazarding  the  usual  reply. 

At  this  point  of  the  inquiry,  Oliver  raised  his  head ; 
and,  looking  round  with  imploring  eyes,  murmured 
a  feeble  prayer  for  a  draught  of  water. 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !"  said  Mr.  Fang :  "  don't  try 
to  make  a  fool  of  me." 

"  I  think  he  really  is  ill,  your  worship,"  remon 
strated  the  officer. 

"  I  know  better,"  said  Mr.  Fang. 

"  Take  care  of  him,  officer,"  said  the  old  gentle 
man,  raising  his  hands  instinctively;  "he'll  fall 
down." 

"  Stand  away,  officer,"  cried  Fang ;  "  let  him,  if 
he  likes." 

Oliver  availed  himself  of  the  kind  permission,  and 
fell  to  the  floor  in  a  fainting  fit.  The  men  in  the  of 
fice  looked  at  each  other,  but  no  one  dared  to  stir. 

"  I  knew  he  was  shamming,"  said  Fang,  as  if  this 
were  incontestable  proof  of  the  fact.  "  Let  him  lie 
there ;  he'll  soon  be  tired  of  that." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  deal  with  the  case,  sir  ?" 
inquired  the  clerk  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Summarily,"  replied  Mr.  Fang.  "  He  stands  com 
mitted  for  three  months  —  hard  labor,  of  course. 
Clear  the  office." 

The  door  was  opened  for  this  purpose,  and  a  cou 
ple  of  men  were  preparing  to  carry  the  insensible 
boy  to  his  cell ;  when  an  elderly  man  of  decent  but 
poor  appearance,  clad  in  an  old  suit  of  black,  rushed 


hastily  into  the  office,  and  advanced  toward  the 
bench. 

"  Stop,  stop !  Don't  take  him  away !  For  Heav 
en's  sake  stop  a  moment!"  cried  the  new-comer, 
breathless  with  haste. 

Although  the  presiding  Genii  in  such  an  office  as 
this  exercise  a  summary  and  arbitrary  power  over 
the  liberties,  the  good  name,  the  character,  almost 
the  lives,  of  Her  Majesty's  subjects,  especially  of  the 
poorer  class ;  and  although,  within  such  walls, 
enough  fantastic  tricks  are  daily  played  to  make  the 
angels  blind  Avith  weeping ;  they  are  closed  to  the 
public,  save  through  the  medium  of  the  daily  press.* 
Mr.  Fang  was  consequently  not  a  little  indignant  to 
see  an  unbidden  guest  enter  in  such  irreverent  dis 
order. 

"  What  is  this  ?  Who  is  this  ?  Turn  this  man 
out.  Clear  the  office !"  cried  Mr.  Fang. 

"  I  will  speak,"  cried  the  man ;  "  I  will  not  be 
turned  out.  I  saw  it  all.  I  keep  the  book -stall.  I 
demand  to  be  sworn.  I  will  not  be  put  down.  Mr. 
Fang,  you  must  hear  me.  You  must  not  refuse,  sir." 

The  man  was  right.  His  manner  was  determined ; 
and  the  matter  was  growing  rather  too  serious  to  be 
hushed  up. 

"  Swear  the  man,"  growled  Mr.  Fang,  with  a  very 
ill  grace.  "  Now,  man,  what  have  you  got  to  say  ?" 

"This,"  said  the  man:  "I  saw  three  boys — two 
others  and  the  prisoner  here — loitering  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  way,  when  this  gentleman  was  read 
ing.  The  robbery  was  committed  by  another  boy. 
I  saw  it  done ;  and  I  saw  that  this  boy  was  perfect 
ly  amazed  and  stupefied  by  it."  Having  by  this 
time  recovered  a  little  breath,  the  worthy  book-stall 
keeper  proceeded  to  relate,  in  a  more  coherent  man 
ner,  the  exact  circumstances  of  the  robbery. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  here  before  ?"  said  Fang, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  hadn't  a  soul  to  mind  the  shop,"  replied  the 
man.  "  Every  body  who  could  have  helped  me  had 
joined  in  the  pursuit.  I  could  get  nobody  till  five 
minutes  ago  ;  and  I  have  run  here  all  the  way." 

"  The  prosecutor  was  reading,  was  he  ?"  inquired 
Fang,  after  another  pause. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  man.  "  The  very  book  he  has 
in  his  hand." 

"  Oh,  that  book,  eh  ?"  said  Fang.    "  Is  it  paid  for  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  replied  the  man,  with  a  smile. 

"  Dear  me,  I  forgot  all  about  it !"  exclaimed  the 
absent  old  gentleman,  innocently. 

"  A  nice  person  to  prefer  a  charge  against  a  poor 
boy !"  said  Fang,  with  a  comical  effort  to  look  mi- . 
mane.  "  I  consider,  sir,  that  you  have  obtained  pos 
session  of  that  book  under  very  suspicious  and  dis 
reputable  circumstances ;  and  you  may  think  your 
self  very  fortunate  that  the  owTier  of  the  property 
declines  to  prosecute.  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you, 
my  man,  or  the  law  will  overtake  you  yet.  The  boy 
is  discharged.  Clear  the  office." 

"  D — n  me !"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  bursting  out 
with  the  rage  he  had  kept  down  so  long,  "  d — n  me ! 
I'll—" 

"  Clear  the  office !"  said  the  magistrate.  "  Officers, 
do  you  hear  ?  Clear  the  office !" 


*  Or  were  virtually,  then. 


GETTING   BETTER. 


39 


The  maudate  was  obeyed  ;  and  the  indignant  Mr. 
Brownlow  was  conveyed  out,  with  the  book  in  one 
hand  and  the  bamboo  cane  in  the  other,  in  a  per 
fect  frenzy  of  rage  and  defiance.  He  reached  the 
yard ;  and  his  passion  vanished  in  a  moment.  Little 
Oliver  Twist  lay  on  his  back  on  the  pavement,  with 
his  shirt  unbuttoned,  and  his  temples  bathed  with 
water  ;  his  face  a  deadly  white  ;  and  a  cold  tremble 
convulsing  his  whole  frame. 

"  Poor  boy !  poor  boy !"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  bend 
ing  over  him.  "  Call  a  coach,  somebody,  pray.  Di 
rectly!" 

A  coach  was  obtained,  and  Oliver,  having  been 
carefully  laid  on  one  seat,  the  old  gentleman  got  in 
and  sat  himself  on  the  other. 

"  May  I  accompany  you  I"  said  the  book-stall  keep 
er,  looking  in. 

"  Bless  me,  yes,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow 
quickly.  "I  forgot  you.  Dear,  dear!  I  have  this 
unhappy  book  still!  Jump  in.  Poor  fellow!  There's 
no  time  to  lose." 

The  book-stall  keeper  got  into  the  coach ;  and 
away  they  drove. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN  WHICH  OLIVER  IS  TAKEN  BETTER  CARE  OF  THAN  HE 
EVER  WAS  BEFORE.  AND  IN  WHICH  THE  NARRATIVE 
REVERTS  TO  THE  MEBKY  OLD  GENTLEMAN  AND  HIS 
YOUTHFUL  FRIENDS. 

THE  coach  rattled  away,  over  nearly  the  same 
ground  as  that  which  Oliver  had  traversed  when 
he  first  entered  London  in  company  with  the  Dodger ; 
and,  turning  a  different  way  when  it  reached  the 
Angel  at  Islington,  stopped  at  length  before  a  neat 
house,  in  a  quiet  shady  street  near  Pentonville. 
Here  a  bed  was  prepared,  without  loss  of  time,  in 
which  Mr.  Brownlow  saw  his  young  charge  carefully 
and  comfortably  deposited  ;  and  here  he  was  tended 
with  a  kindness  and  solicitude  that  knew  no  bounds. 

But,  for  many  days,  Oliver  remained  insensible  to 
all  the  goodness  of  his  new  friends.  The  sun  rose 
and  sank,  and  rose  and  sank  again,  and  many  times 
after  that ;  and  still  the  boy  lay  stretched  on  his  un 
easy  bed,  dwindling  away  beneath  the  dry  and  wast 
ing  heat  of  fever.  The  worm  does  not  his  work  more 
surely  on  the  dead  body,  than  does  this  slow  creeping 
fire  upon  the  living  frame. 

Weak,  and  thin,  and  pallid,  he  awoke  at  last  from 
what  seemed  to  have  been  a  long  and  troubled  dream. 
Feebly  raising  hinvelf  in  the  bed,  with  his  head  rest 
ing  on  his  trembling  arm,  he  looked  anxiously  around. 

"  What  room  is  this  ?  Where  have  I  been  brought 
to  ?"  said  Oliver.  "  This  is  not  the  place  I  went  to 
sleep  in." 

He  uttered  these  words  in  a  feeble  voice,  being 
very  faint  and  weak ;  but  they  were  overheard  at 
once.  The  curtain  at  the  bed's  head  was  hastily 
drawn  back,  and  a  motherly  old  lady,  very  neatly 
and  precisely  dressed,  rose,  as  she  undrew  it,  from  an 
arm-chair  close  by,  in  which  she  had  been  sitting  at 
needle-work. 

"  Hush,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  softly.  "  Yon 
must  be  very  quiet,  or  you  will  be  ill  again ;  and  you 


have  been  very  bad — as  bad  as  bad  could  be,  pretty 
nigh.  Lie  down  again ;  there's  a  dear !"  With  those 
words,  the  old  lady  very  gently  placed  Oliver's  head 
upon  the  pillow ;  and,  smoothing  back  his  hair  from 
his  forehead,  looked  so  kind  and  lovingly  in  his  face, 
that  he  could  not  help  placing  his  little  withered 
hand  in  hers,  and  drawing  it  round  his  neck. 

"  Save  us !"  said  the  old  lady,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "  What  a  grateful  little  dear  it  is !  Pretty 
creetur !  What  would  his  mother  feel  if  she  had  sat 
by  him  as  I  have,  and  could  see  him  now !" 

"  Perhaps  she  does  see  me,"  whispered  Oliver,  fold 
ing  his  hands  together;  "perhaps  she  has  sat  by  me. 
I  almost  feel  as  if  she  had." 

"  That  was  the  fever,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady, 
mildly. 

"  I  suppose  it  was,"  replied  Oliver,  "  because  heav 
en  is  a  long  way  off;  and  they  are  too  happy  there, 
to  come  down  to  the  bedside  of  a  poor  boy.  But  if 
she  knew  I  was  ill,  she  must  have  pitied  me,  even 
there ;  for  she  was  very  ill  herself  before  she  died. 
She  can't  know  any  thing  about  me,  though,"  added 
Oliver,  after  a  moment's  silence.  "  If  she  had  seen 
me  hurt,  it  would  have  made  her  sorrowful ;  and  her 
face  has  always  looked  sweet  and  happy,  when  I 
have  dreamed  of  her." 

The  old  lady  made  no  reply  to  this ;  but  wiping 
her  tears  first,  and  her  spectacles,  which  lay  on  the 
counterpane,  afterward,  as  if  they  were  part  and 
parcel  of  those  features,  brought  some  cool  stuff1  for 
Oliver  to  drink ;  and  then,  patting  him  on  the  cheek, 
told  him  he  must  lie  very  quiet,  or  he  would  be  ill 
again. 

So  Oliver  kept  very  still ;  partly  because  he  was 
anxious  to  obey  the  kind  old  lady  in  all  things ;  and 
partly,  to  tell  the  truth,  because  he  was  completely 
exhausted  with  what  he  had  already  said.  He  soon 
fell  into  a  gentle  doze,  from  which  he  was  awakened 
by  the  light  of  a  candle ;  which,  being  brought  near 
the  bed,  showed  him  a  gentleman  with  a  very  large 
and  loud-ticking  gold  watch  in  his  hand,  who  felt 
his  pulse,  and  said  he  was  a  great  deal  better. 

"  You  are  a  great  deal  better,  are  you  not,  my 
dear  ?"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are,"  said  the  gentleman. 
"  You're  hungry  too,  ain't  you  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Oliver. 

"  Hem !"  said  the  gentleman.  "  No,  I  know  you're 
not.  He  is  not  hungry,  Mrs.  Bed  win,"  said  the  gen 
tleman,  looking  very  wise. 

The  old  lady  made  a  respectful  inclination  of  the 
head,  which  seemed  to  say  that  she  thought  the  doc 
tor  was  a  very  clever  man.  The  doctor  appeared 
much  of  the  same  opinion  himself. 

"  You  feel  sleepy,  don't  you,  my  dear  ?"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"No,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  very  shrewd  and 
satisfied  look.  "You  are  not  sleepy.  Nor  thirsty. 
Are  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  rather  thirsty,"  answered  Oliver. 

"  Just  as  I  expected,  Mrs.  Bedwin,"  said  the  doc 
tor.  "  It's  very  natural  that  he  should  be  thirsty. 
You  may  give  him  a  little  tea,  ma'am,  and  some  dry 
toast  without  any  butter.  Don't  keep  him  too  warm, 


40 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


ina'am ;  but  be  careful  that  you  don't  let  Mm  be  too 
coltl ;  will  you  have  the  goodness  ?" 

The  old  lady  dropped  a  courtesy.  The  doctor,  af 
ter  tasting  the  cool  stuff,  and  expressing  a  qualified 
approval  of  it,  hurried  away,  his  boots  creaking  in 
a  very  important  and  wealthy  manner  as  he  went 
down  stairs. 

Oliver  dozed  off  again  soon  after  this ;  when  he 
awoke,  it  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock.  The  old  lady 
tenderly  bade  him  good-night  shortly  afterward,  and 
left  him  in  charge  of  a  fat  old  woman  who  had  just 
come ;  bringing  with  her,  in  a  little  bundle,  a  small 
Prayer-book  and  a  large  night-cap.  Putting  the  lat 
ter  on  her  head  and  the  former  on  the  table,  the  old 
woman,  after  telling  Oliver  that  she  had  come  to  sit 
up  with  him,  drew  her  chair  close  to  the  fire  and 
went  off  into  a  series  of  short  naps,  checkered  at  fre 
quent  intervals  with  sundry  tumblings  forward,  and 
divers  moans  and  chokiugs.  These,  however,  had 
no  wrorse  effect  than  causing  her  to  rub  her  nose 
very  hard,  and  then  fall  asleep  again. 

And  thus  the  night  crept  slowly  on.  Oliver  lay 
awake  for  some  time,  counting  the  little  circles  of 
light  which  the  reflection  of  the  rush-light  shade 
threw  upon  the  ceiling,  or  tracing  with  his  languid 
eyes  the  intricate  pattern  of  the  paper  on  the  wall. 
The  darkness  and  the  deep  stillness  of  the  room  were 
very  solemn:  as  they  brought  into  the  boy's  mind 
the  thought  that  death  had  been  hovering  there,  for 
many  days  and  nights,  and  might  yet  fill  it  with 
the  gloom  and  dread  of  his  awful  presence,  he  turn 
ed  his  face  upon  the  pillow,  and  fervently  prayed  to 
Heaven. 

Gradually  he  fell  into  that  deep  tranquil  sleep 
which  ease  from  recent  suffering  alone  imparts ;  that 
calm  and  peaceful  rest  which  it  is  pain  to  wake  from. 
Who,  if  this  were  death,  would  be  roused  again  to  all 
the  struggles  and  turmoils  of  life ;  to  all  its  cares  for 
the  present,  its  anxieties  for  the  future ;  more  than 
all,  its  weary  recollections  of  the  past ! 

It  had  been  bright  day  for  hours,  when  Oliver 
opened  his  eyes ;  he  felt  cheerful  and  happy.  The 
crisis  of  the  disease  was  safely  past.  He  belonged 
to  the  world  again. 

In  three  days'  time  he  was  able  to  sit  in  an  easy- 
chair,  well  propped  up  with  pillows ;  and,  as  he  was 
still  too  weak  to  walk,  Mrs.  Bedwin  had  him  carried 
down  stairs  into  the  little  housekeeper's  room,  which 
belonged  to  her.  Having  him  set  here,  by  the  fire 
side,  the  good  old  lady  sat  herself  down  too ;  and, 
being  in  a  state  of  considerable  delight  at  seeing 
him  so  much  better,  forthwith  began  to  cry  most 
violently. 

"  Never  mind  me,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"I'm  only  having  a  regular  good  cry.  There;  it's 
all  over  now ;  and  I'm  quite  comfortable." 

"  You're  very,  very  kind  to  me,  ma'am,"  said  Oliver. 

""Well,  never  you  mind  that,  my  dear,"  said  the 
old  lady  ;  "  that's  got  nothing  to  do  with  your  broth ; 
and  it's  full  time  you  had  it ;  for  the  doctor  says  Mr. 
Brownlow  may  come  in  to  see  you  this  morning,  and 
Ave  must  get  up  our  best  looks,  because  the  better  we 
look  the  more  he'll  be  pleased."  And  with  this,  the 
old  lady  applied  herself  to  warming  up,  in  a  little 
saucepan,  a  basinful  of  broth,  strong  enough,  Oliver 
thought,  to  furnish  an  ample  dinner,  when  reduced 


to  the  regulation  strength,  for  three  hundred  and 
fifty  paupers,  at  the  lowest  computation. 

"Are  you  fond  of  pictures,  dear?"  inquired  the 
old  lady,  seeing  that  Oliver  had  fixed  his  eyes,  most 
intently,  on  a  portrait  which  hung  against  the  wall, 
just  opposite  his  chair. 

"  I  don't  quite  know,  ma'am,"  said  Oliver,  without 
taking  his  eyes  from  the  canvas ;  "  I  have  seen  so  few 
that  I  hardly  know.  What  a  beautiful,  mild  face 
that  lady's  is !" 

"  All !"  said  the  old  lady,  "  painters  always  make 
ladies  out  prettier  than  they  are,  or  they  wouldn't 
get  any  custom,  child.  The  man  that  invented  the 
machine  for  taking  likenesses  might  have  known 
that  would  never  succeed;  it's  a  deal  too  honest. 
A  deal,"  said  the  old  lady,  laughing  very  heartily  at 
her  own  acuteuess. 

"  Is — is  that  a  likeness,  ma'am  ?"  said  Oliver. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  looking  up  for  a  moment 
from  the  broth ;  "  that's  a  portrait." 

"  Whose,  ma'am  ?"  asked  Oliver. 

"  Why,  really,  my  dear,  I  don't  know,"  answered 
the  old  lady,  in  a  good-humored  manner.  "  It's  not 
a  likeness  of  any  body  that  you  or  I  know,  I  expect. 
It  seems  to  strike  your  fancy,  dear." 

"  It  is  so  very  pretty,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Why,  sure  you're  not  afraid  of  it  ?"  said  the  old 
lady ;  observing,  in  great  surprise,  the  look  of  awe 
with  which  the  child  regarded  the  painting. 

"  Oh,  no,  no!"  returned  Oliver,  quickly ;  "  but  the 
eyes  look  so  sorrowful ;  and  where  I  sit,  they  seem 
fixed  upon  me.  It  makes  my  heart  beat,"  added 
Oliver  in  a  low  voice,  "  as  if  it  was  alive,  and  wanted 
to  speak  to  me,  but  couldn't." 

"Lord  save  us!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  start 
ing  ;  "  don't  talk  in  that  way,  child,  You're  weak 
and  nervous  after  your  illness.  Let  me  wheel  your 
chair  round  to  the  other  side ;  and  then  you  won't 
see  it.  There !"  said  the  old  lady,  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word ;  "  you  don't  see  it  now,  at  all  events." 

Oliver  did  see  it  in  his  mind's  eye  as  distinctly  as 
if  he  had  not  altered  his  position;  but  he  thought  it 
better  not  to  worry  the  kind  old  lady ;  so  he  smiled 
gently  when  she  looked  at  him ;  and  Mrs.  Bedwin, 
satisfied  that  he  felt  more  comfortable,  salted  and 
broke  bits  of  toasted  bread  into  the  broth,  with  all 
the  bustle  befitting  so  solemn  a  preparation.  Oliver 
got  through  it  with  extraordinary  expedition.  He 
had  scarcely  swallowed  the  last  spoonful,  when  there 
came  a  soft  rap  at  the  door.  "  Come  in,"  said  the  old 
lady ;  and  in  walked  Mr.  Brownlow. 

Now,  the  old  gentleman  came  in  as  brisk  as  need 
be ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  raised  his  spectacles  on  his 
forehead,  and  thrust  his  hands  behind  the  skirts  of 
his  dressing-gown  to  take  a  good  long  look  at  Oliver, 
than  his  countenance  underwent  a  very  great  variety 
of  odd  contortions.  Oliver  looked  very  worn  and 
shadowy  from  sickness,  and  made  an  ineffectual  at 
tempt  to  stand  up,  out  of  respect  to  his  benefactor, 
which  terminated  in  his  sinking  back  into  the  chair 
again ;  and  the  fact  is,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  that 
Mr.  Browulow's  heart,  being  large  enough  for  any  six 
ordinary  old  gentlemen  of  humane  disposition,  forced 
a  supply  of  tears  into  his  eyes,  by  some  hydraulic 
process  which  we  are  not  sufficiently  philosophical  to 
be  in  a  condition  to  explain. 


BETTER  AND  BETTER. 


41 


"  Poor  boy !  poor  boy !"  said  Sir.  Brownlow,  clear 
ing  his  throat.  "  I'm  rather  hoarse  this  morning, 
Mrs.  Bedwiii.  I'm  afraid  I  have  caught  cold." 

"  I  hope  riot,  sir,"  said  Sirs.  Bedwin.  "  Every  thing 
you  have  had  has  been  well  aired,  sir." 

"  I  don't  know,  Bedwin.  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr. 
Brownlow ;  "  I  rather  think  I  had  a  damp  napkin  at 
dinner-time  yesterday ;  but  never  mind  that.  How 
do  you  feel,  my  dear  f ' 

"Very  happy,  sir,"  replied  Oliver.  "And  very 
grateful  indeed,  sir,  for  your  goodness  to  me." 

"  Good  boy,"  said  Sir.  Browulow,  stoutly.  "  Have 
you  given  him  any  nourishment,  Bedwiu  ?  An y  slops, 
eh?" 

"  He  has  just  had  a  basin  of  beautiful  strong  broth, 
sir,"  replied  Sirs.  Bedwiu ;  drawing  herself  up  slight 
ly,  and  laying  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  last  word, 
to  intimate  that  between  slops  and  broth  well  com 
pounded  there  existed  no  affinity  or  connection  what 
soever. 

"  Ugh !"  said  Sir.  Brownlow,  with  a  slight  shud 
der  ;  "  a  couple  of  glasses  of  port-wine  would  have 
done  him  a  great  deal  more  good.  Wouldn't  they, 
Tom  White,  <-h  .''' 

"  Sly  name  is  Oliver,  sir,"  replied  the  little  invalid : 
with  a  look  of  great  astonishment. 

"  Oliver,"  said  Sir.  Brownlow ;  "  Oliver  what  ?  Ol 
iver  White,  eh  ?" 

"No,  sir;  Twist— Oliver  Twist." 

"  Queer  name !"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  What 
made  you  tell  the  magistrate  your  name  was  White  ?" 

"I  never  told  him  so,  sir,"  returned  Oliver,  in 
amazement. 

This  sounded  so  like  a  falsehood,  that  the  old  gen 
tleman  looked  somewhat  sternly  in  Oliver's  face.  It 
was  impossible  to  doubt  him ;  there  was  truth  in  ev 
ery  one  of  its  thin  and  sharpened  lineaments. 

"  Some  mistake,"  said  Sir.  Brownlow.  But,  al 
though  his  motive  for  looking  steadily  at  Oliver  no 
longer  existed,  the  old  idea  of  the  resemblance  be 
tween  his  features  and  some  familiar  face  came  upon 
him  so  strongly,  that  he  could  not  withdraw  his 
gaze. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,  sir  ?"  said  Ol 
iver,  raising  his  eyes  beseechingly. 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  "Why! 
what's  this  ?  Bedwin,  look  there !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  pointed  hastily  to  the  picture 
above  Oliver's  head,  and  then  to  the  boy's  face. 
There  was  its  living  copy.  The  eyes,  the  head,  the 
mouth — every  feature  was  the  same.  The  expres 
sion  was,  for  the  instant,  so  precisely  alike,  that  the 
minutest  line  seemed  copied  with  startling  accuracy ! 

Oliver  knew  not  the  cause  of  this  sudden  excla 
mation  ;  for,  not  being  strong  enough  to  bear  the 
start  it  gave  him,  he  fainted  away.  A  weakness  on 
his  part,  which  affords  the  narrative  an  opportunity 
of  relieving  the  reader  from  suspense,  in  behalf  of 
the  two  young  pupils  of  the  Slerry  Old  Gentleman ; 
and  of  recording — 

That  when  the  Dodger,  and  his  accomplished  friend 
Slastcr  Bates,  joined  in  the  hue-and-cry  which  was 
raised  at  Oliver's  heels,  in  consequence  of  their  exe 
cuting  an  illegal  conveyance  of  Sir.  Brownlow's  per 
sonal  property,  as  has  been  already  described,  they 
were  actuated  by  a  very  laudable  and  becoming  re 


gard  for  themselves ;  and  forasmuch  as  the  freedom 
of  the  subject  and  the  liberty  of  the  individual  are 
among  the  first  and  proudest  boasts  of  a  true-hearted 
Englishman,  so,  I  need  hardly  beg  the  reader  to  ob 
serve,  that  this  action  should  tend  to  exalt  them  in 
the  opinion  of  all  public  and  patriotic  men,  in  almost 
as  great  a  degree  as  this  strong  proof  of  their  anxi 
ety  for  their  own  preservation  and  safety  goes  to 
corroborate  and  confirm  the  little  code  of  laws  which 
certain  profound  and  sound -judging  philosophers 
have  laid  down  as  the  mainsprings  of  all  Nature's 
deeds  and  actions ;  the  said  philosophers  very  wisely 
reducing  the  good  lady's  proceedings  to  matters  of 
maxim  and  theory,  and,  by  a  very  neat  and  pretty 
compliment  to  her  exalted  wisdom  and  understand 
ing,  putting  entirely  out  of  sight  any  considerations 
of  heart,  or  generous  impulse  and  feeling.  For  these 
are  matters  totally  beneath  a  female  who  is  acknowl 
edged  by  universal  admission  to  be  far  above  the  nu 
merous  little  foibles  and  weaknesses  of  her  sex. 

If  I  wanted  any  further  proof  of  the  strictly  phil 
osophical  nature  of  the  conduct  of  these  young  gen 
tlemen  in  their  very  delicate  predicament,  I  should 
at  once  find  it  in  the  fact  (also  recorded  in  a  forego 
ing  part  of  this  narrative),  of  their  quitting  the  pur 
suit,  when  the  general  attention  was  fixed  upon  Oli 
ver  ;  and  making  immediately  for  their  home  by  the 
shortest  possible  cut.  Although  I  do  not  mean  to 
assert  that  it  is  usually  the  practice  of  renowned  and 
learned  sages  to  shorten  the  road  to  any  great  con 
clusion  (their  course,  indeed,  being  rather  to  length 
en  the  distance,  by  various  circumlocutions  and  dis 
cursive  staggerings,  like  unto  those  in  which  drunk 
en  men  under  the  pressure  of  a  too  mighty  flow  of 
ideas,  are  prone  to  indulge) ;  still,  I  do  mean  to  say, 
and  do  say  distinctly,  that  it  is  the  invariable  prac 
tice  of  many  mighty  philosophers,  in  carrying  out  their 
theories,  to  evince  great  wisdom  and  foresight  in  pro 
viding  against  every  possible  contingency  which  can 
be  supposed  at  all  likely  to  affect  themselves.  Thus, 
to  do  a  great  right,  you  may  do  a  little  wrong ;  and 
you  may  take  any  means  which  the  end  to  be  at 
tained  will  justify;  the  amount  of  the  right,  or  the 
amount  of  the  wrong,  or,  indeed,  the  distinction  be 
tween  the  two,  being  left  entirely  to  the  philosopher 
concerned,  to  be  settled  and  determined  by  his  clear, 
comprehensive,  and  impartial  view  of  his  own  par 
ticular  case. 

It  was  not  until  the  two  boys  had  scoured,  with 
great  rapidity,  through  a  most  intricate  maze  of  nar 
row  streets  and  courts,  that  they  ventured  to  halt 
beneath  a  low  and  dark  archway.  Having  remain 
ed  silent  here,  just  long  enough  to  recover  breath 
to  speak,  Master  Bates  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
amusement  and  delight ;  and,  bursting  into  an  un 
controllable  fit  of  laughter,  flung  himself  upon  a  door 
step,  and  rolled  thereon  in  a  transport  of  mirth. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  inquired  the  Dodger. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  roared  Charley  Bates. 

"  Hold  your  noise,"  remonstrated  the  Dodger,  look 
ing  cautiously  round.  "  Do  you  want  to  be  grabbed, 
stupid?" 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Charley,  "  I  can't  help  it ! 
To  see  him  splitting  away  at  that  pace,  and  cutting 
round  the  corners,  and  knocking  up  again  the  posts, 
and  starting  on  again  as  if  he  was  made  of  iron  as 


42 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


well  as  them,  and  me  with  the  wipe  in  my  pocket, 
singing  out  arter  him — oh,  my  eye !"  The  vivid  im 
agination  of  Master  Bates  presented  the  scene  before 
him  in  too  strong  colors.  As  he  arrived  at  this  apos 
trophe,  he  again  rolled  upon  the  door-step,  and  laugh 
ed  louder  than  before. 

"  What'll  Fagin  say  ?"  inquired  the  Dodger ;  tak 
ing  advantage  of  the  next  interval  of  breathlessness 
on  the  part  of  his  friend  to  propound  the  question. 

"What  ?"  repeated  Charley  Bates. 

"  Ah,  what  ?"  said  the  Dodger. 

"  Why,  what  should  he  say  ?"  inquired  Charley, 
stopping  rather  suddenly  in  his  merriment ;  for  the 
Dodger's  manner  was  impressive.  "  What  should 
he  say  ?" 

Mr.  Dawkins  whistled  for  a  couple  of  minutes; 


The  noise  of  footsteps  on  the  creaking  stairs,  a  few 
minutes  after  the  occurrence  of  this  conversation, 
roused  the  merry  old  gentleman  as  he  sat  over  the 
fire  with  a  saveloy  and  a  small  loaf  in  his  left  hand ; 
a  pocket-knife  in  his  right ;  and  a  pewter  pot  on  the 
trivet.  There  was  a  rascally  smile  on  his  white  face 
as  he  turned  round,  and,  looking  sharply  out  from 
under  his  thick  red  eyebrows,  bent  his  ear  toward 
the  door,  and  listened. 

"Why,  how's  this?"  muttered  the  Jew,  changing 
countenance ;  "  only  two  of  'em  ?  Where's  the  third  I 
They  can't  have  got  into  trouble.  Hark !" 

The  footsteps  approached  nearer;  they  reached 
the  landing.  The  door  was  slowly  opened ;  and  the 
Dodger  and  Charley  Bates  entered,  closing  it  behind 
them. 


1  WHAT'S  BECOME  OF  THE  BOY  ?" 


then,  taking  off  his  hat,  scratched  his  head,  and  nod 
ded  thrice. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Charley. 

"  Toor  ml  lol  loo,  gammon  and  spinnage,  the  frog 
he  wouldn't,  and  high  cockolornm,"  said  the  Dodger, 
with  a  slight  sneer  on  his  intellectual  countenance. 

This  was  explanatory,  but  not  satisfactory.  Mas 
ter  Bates  felt  it  so ;  and  again  said,  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

The  Dodger  made  no  reply ;  but  putting  his  hat 
on  again,  and  gathering  the  skirts  of  his  long-tailed 
coat  under  his  arm,  thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek, 
slapped  the  bridge  of  his  nose  some  half-dozen  times 
in  a  familiar  but  expressive  manner,  and,  turning  on 
his  heel,  slunk  down  the  court.  Master  Bates  fol 
lowed  with  a  thoughtful  countenance. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


SOME  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES  ABE  INTRODUCED  TO  THE 
INTELLIGENT  READER,  CONNECTED  WITH  WHOM  VARI 
OUS  PLEASANT  MATTERS  ARE  RELATED  APPERTAINING 
TO  THIS  HISTORY. 

"  TTTHERE'S  Oliver  ?"  said  the  Jew,  rising  with  a 
VV    menacing  look.     "  Where's  the  boy  ?" 
The  young  thieves  eyed  their  preceptor  as  if  they 
were  alarmed  at  his  violence;  and  looked  uneasily 
at  each  other.     But  they  made  no  reply. 

"  What's  become  of  the  boy  ?"  said  the  Jew,  seiz 
ing  the  Dodger  tightly  by  the  collar,  and  threaten 
ing  him  with  horrid  imprecations.  "  Speak  out,  or 
I'll  throttle  you!" 

Mr.  Fagiu  looked  so  very  much  in  earnest,  that 


A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE. 


43 


Charley  Bates,  -who  deemed  it  prudent  in  all  cases 
to  be  on  the  safe  side,  and  who  conceived  it  hy  no 
means  improbable  that  it  might  be  his  turn  to  be 
throttled  second,  dropped  upon  his  knees,  and  raised 
a  loud,  well-sustained,  and  continuous  roar — some 
thing  between  a  mad  bull  and  a  speaking-trumpet. 

"  Will  you  speak  ?"  thundered  the  Jew :  shaking 
the  Dodger  so  much  that  his  keeping  in  the  big  coat 
at  all  seemed  perfectly  miraculous. 

"  Why,  the  traps  have  got  him,  and  that's  all  about 
it,"  said  the  Dodger,  sullenly.  "  Come,  let  go  o'  me, 
will  yon !''  And,  swinging  himself,  at  one  jerk,  clean 
out  of  the  big  coat,  which  he  left  in  the  Jew's  hands, 
the  Dodger  snatched  up  the  toasting-fork  and  made  a 
pass  at  the  merry  old  gentleman's  waistcoat ;  which, 
if  it  had  taken  effect,  would  have  let  a  little  more 
merriment  out  than  could  have  been  easily  replaced. 

The  Jew  stepped  back  in  this  emergency,  with 
more  agility  than  could  have  been  anticipated  in  a 
man  of  his  apparent  decrepitude ;  and,  seizing  up  the 
pot,  prepared  to  hurl  it  at  his  assailant's  head.  But 
Charley  Bates,  at  this  moment,  calling  his  attention 
by  a  perfectly  terrific  howl,  he  suddenly  altered  its 
destination,  and  flung  it  full  at  that  young  gentle 
man. 

"  Why,  what  the  blazes  is  in  the  wind  now  ?" 
growled  a  deep  voice.  "WTho  pitched  that  'ere  at 
me  ?  It's  well  it's  the  beer,  and  not  the  pot,  as  hit 
me,  or  I'd  have  settled  somebody.  I  might  have 
know'd,  as  nobody  but  an  infernal,  rich,  plundering, 
thundering  old  Jew  could  afford  to  throw  away  any 
drink  but  water — and  not  that,  unless  he  done  the 
River  Company  every  quarter.  Wot's  it  all  about, 
Fagin  ?  D —  me,  if  my  neck-handkercher  an't  lined 
with  beer !  Come  in,  you  sneaking  warmint !  wot 
are  you  stopping  outside  for,  as  if  you  was  ashamed 
of  your  master !  Come  in !" 

The  man  who  growled  out  these  words  was  a 
stoutly-built  fellow  of  about  five-and-thirty,  in  a 
black  velveteen  coat,  very  soiled  drab  breeches,  lace- 
up  half  boots,  and  gray  cotton  stockings,  which  in 
closed  a  bulky  pair  of  legs,  with  large  swelling 
calves  —  the  kind  of  legs,  which  in  such  costume, 
always  look  in  an  unfinished  and  incomplete  state 
without  a  set  of  fetters  to  garnish  them.  He  had  a 
brown  hat  on  his  head,  and  a  dirty  belcher  handker 
chief  round  his  neck,  with  the  long  frayed  ends  of 
which  he  smeared  the  beer  from  his  face  as  he  spoke. 
He  disclosed,  Vhen  he  had  done  so,  a  broad  heavy 
countenance  with  a  beard  of  three  days'  growth, 
and  two  scowling  eyes ;  one  of  which  displayed  vari 
ous  party-colored  symptoms  of  having  been  recently 
damaged  by  a  blow. 

"  Come  in,  d'ye  hear  ?"  growled  this  engaging  ruf 
fian. 

A  white  shaggy  dog,  with  his  face  scratched  and 
torn  in  twenty  different  places,  skulked  into  the 
room. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  in  afore  ?"  said  the  man. 
"  You're  getting  too  proud  to  own  me  afore  company, 
are  you  ?  Lie  down  !'' 

This  command  was  accompanied  with  a  kick, 
which  sent  the  animal  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
He  appeared  well  used  to  it,  however ;  for  he  coiled 
himself  up  in  a  corner  very  quietly,  without  utter 
ing  a  sound,  and,  winking  his  very  ill-looking  eyes 


twenty  times  in  a  minute,  appeared  to  occupy  him 
self  in  taking  a  survey  of  the  apartment. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  ?  Ill-treating  the  boys,  you 
covetous,  avaricious,  in-sa-ti-a-ble  old  fence  ?"  said 
the  man,  seating  himself  deliberately.  "  I  wonder 
they  don't  murder  you !  /  would  if  I  was  them.  If 
I'd  been  your  'prentice,  I'd  have  done  it  long  ago, 
and  —  no,  I  couldn't  have  sold  you  afterward,  for 
you're  fit  for  nothing  but  keeping  as  a  curiosity  of 
ugliness  in  a  glass  bottle,  and  I  suppose  they  don't 
blow  glass  bottles  large  enough." 

"  Hush !  hush !  Mr.  Sikes,"  said  the  Jew,  trembling ; 
"  don't  speak  so  loud." 

"  None  of  your  mistering,"  replied  the  ruffian ; 
"you  always  mean  mischief  when  you  come  that. 
You  know  my  name :  out  with  it !  I  sha'u't  disgrace 
it  when  the  time  comes." 

"  Well,  well,  then— Bill  Sikes,"  said  the  Jew,  with 
abject  humility.  "  You  seem  out  of  humor,  Bill." 

"Perhaps  I  am," replied  Sikes;  "I  should  think 
you,  was  rather  out  of  sorts  too,  unless  you  mean  as 
little  harm  when  you  throw  pewter  pots  about,  as 
you  do  when  you  blab  and — : 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  said  the  Jew,  catching  the  man 
by  the  sleeve,  and  pointing  toward  the  boys. 

Mr.  Sikes  contented  himself  with  tying  an  imagi 
nary  knot  under  his  left  ear,  and  jerking  his  head  over 
on  the  right  shoulder ;  a  piece  of  dumb  show  which 
the  Jew  appeared  to  understand  perfectly.  He  then, 
in  cant  terms,  with  which  his  whole  conversation 
was  plentifully  besprinkled,  but  which  would  be 
quite  unintelligible  if  they  were  recorded  here,  de 
manded  a  glass  of  liquor. 

"  And  mind  you  don't  poison  it,"  said  Mr.  Sikes, 
laying  his  hat  upon  the  table. 

This  was  said  in  jest;  but  if  the  speaker  could 
have  seen  the  evil  leer  with  which  the  Jew  bit  his 
pale  lip  as  he  turned  round  to  the  cupboard,  he  might 
have  thought  the  caution  not  wholly  unnecessary, 
or  the  wish  (at  all  events)  to  improve  upon  the  dis 
tiller's  ingenuity  not  very  far  from  the  old  gentle 
man's  merry  heart. 

After  swallowing  two  or  three  glasses  of  spirits, 
Mr.  Sikes  condescended  to  take  some  notice  of  the 
young  gentlemen ;  which  gracious  act  led  to  a  con 
versation,  in  which  the  cause  and  manner  of  Oliver's 
capture  were  circumstantially  detailed,  with  such 
alterations  and  improvements  on  the  truth  as  to 
the  Dodger  appeared  most  advisable  under  the  cir 
cumstances. 

"  Fm  afraid,"  said  the  Jew, "  that  he  may  say  some 
thing  which  will  get  us  into  trouble." 

"  That's  very  likely,"  returned  Sikes,  with  a  mali 
cious  grin.  "  You're  blowed  upon,  Fagin." 

"  And  I'm  afraid,  you  see,"  added  the  Jew,  speak 
ing  as  if  he  had  not  noticed  the  interruption ;  and 
regarding  the  other  closely  as  he  did  so — "  I'm  afraid 
that,  if  the  game  was  up  with  us,  it  might  be  up  with 
a  good  many  more,  and  that  it  would  come  out  rath 
er  worse  for  you  than  it  would  for  me,  my  dear." 

The  man  started,  and  turned  round  upon  the  Jew. 
But  the  old  gentleman's  shoulders  were  shrugged  up 
to  his  ears ;  and  his  eyes  were  vacantly  staring  on 
the  opposite  wall. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Every  member  of  the 
respectable  coterie  appeared  plunged  in  his  own  re- 


44 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


flections ;  not  excepting  the  dog,  who  by  a  certain 
malicious  licking  of  his  lips  seemed  to  be  meditating 
an  attack  upon  the  legs  of  the  first  gentleman  or 
lady  he  might  encounter  in  the  streets  when  he  went 
out. 

"  Somebody  must  find  out  wot's  been  done  at  the 
office,"  said  Mr.  Sikes,  in  a  much  lower  tone  than  he 
had  taken  since  he  came  in. 

The  Jew  nodded  assent. 

"If  he  hasn't  peached,  and  is  committed,  there's 
no  fear  till  he  comes  out  again,"  said  Mr.  Sikes,  "  and 
then  he  must  be  taken  care  on.  You  must  get  hold 
of  him  somehow." 

Again  the  Jew  nodded. 

The  prudence  of  this  line  of  action,  indeed,  was  ob 
vious  ;  but,  unfortunately,  there  was  one  very  strong 
objection  to  its  being  adopted.  This  was,  that  the 
Dodger,  and  Charley  Bates,  and  Fagin,  and  Mr.  Wil 
liam  Sikes,  happened,  one  and  all,  to  entertain  a  vio 
lent  and  deeply-rooted  antipathy  to  going  near  a  po 
lice-office  on  any  ground  or  pretext  whatever. 

How  long  they  might  have  sat  and  looked  at  each 
other,  in  a  state  of  uncertainty  not  the  most  pleasant 
of  its  kind,  it  is  difficult  to  guess.  It  is  not  necessa 
ry  to  make  any  guesses  on  the  subject,  however ;  for 
the  sudden  entrance  of  the  two  young  ladies  whom 
Oliver  had  seen  on  a  former  occasion,  caused  the  con 
versation  to  flow  afresh. 

"  The  very  thing !"  said  the  Jew.  "  Bet  will  go ; 
won't  you,  my  dear  I" 

"  Wheres  ?"  inquired  the  young  lady. 

"  Only  just  up  to  the  office,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew, 
coaxingly. 

It  is  due  to  the  young  lady  to  say  that  she  did  not 
positively  affirm  that  she  would  not,  but  that  she 
merely  expressed  an  emphatic  and  earnest  desire  to 
be  "  blessed  "  if  she  would ;  a  polite  and  delicate  eva 
sion  of  the  request,  which  shows  the  young  lady  to 
have  been  possessed  of  that  natural  good-breeding 
which  can  not  bear  to  inflict  upon  a  fellow-creature 
the  pain  of  a  direct  and  pointed  refusal. 

The  Jew's  countenance  fell.  He  turned  from  this 
young  lady,  who  was  gayly,  not  to  say  gorgeously 
attired,  in  a  red  gown,  green  boots,  and  yellow  curl 
papers,  to  the  other  female. 

"  Nancy,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew  in  a  soothing  man 
ner,  "  what  do  you  say  ?" 

"  That  it  won't  do ;  so  it's  no  use  a-trying  it  on, 
Fagin,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Sikes, 
lookiug  up  in  a  surly  manner. 

"  What  I  say,  Bill,"  replied  the  lady,  collectedly. 

"  Why,  you're  just  the  very  person  for  it,"  reason 
ed  Mr.  Sikes:  "nobody  about  here  knows  any  thing 
of  you." 

"And  as  I  don't  want  'em  to,  neither,"  replied  Nan 
cy,  in  the  same  composed  manner,  "  it's  rather  more 
no  than  yes  with  me,  Bill." 

"  She'll  go,  Fagin,"  said  Sikes. 

"  No,  she  won't,  Fagin,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Yes,  she  will,  Fagin,"  said  Sikes. 

And  Mr.  Sikes  was  right.  By  dint  of  alternate 
threats,  promises,  and  bribes,  the  lady  in  question 
was  ultimately  prevailed  upon  to  undertake  the 
commission.  She  was  not,  indeed,  withheld  by  the 
same  considerations  as  her  agreeable  friend ;  for,  hav 


ing  recently  removed  into  the  neighborhood  of  Field 
Lane  from  the  remote  but  genteel  suburb  of  Ratcliffe, 
she  was  not  .under  the  same  apprehension  of  being 
recognized  by  any  of  her  numerous  acquaintance. 

Accordingly,  with  a  clean  white  apron  tied  over 
her  gown,  and  her  curl -papers  tucked  up  under  a 
straw  bonnet — both  articles  of  dress  being  provided 
from  the  Jew's  inexhaustible  stock  —  Miss  Nancy 
prepared  to  issue  forth  on  her  errand. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew,  producing 
a  little  covered  basket.  "  Carry  that  in  one  hand. 
It  looks  more  respectable,  my  dear." 

"  Give  her  a  door-key  to  carry  in  her  t'other  one, 
Fagiu,"  said  Sikes ;  "  it  looks  real  and  geniviue  like." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  so  it  does,"  said  the  Jew,  hang 
ing  a  large  street-door  key  on  the  forefinger  of  the 
young  lady's  right  hand.  "  There  ;  very  good !  Very 
good,  indeed,  my  dear!"  said  the  Jew,  rubbing  his 
hands. 

"  Oh,  my  brother !  My  poor,  dear,  sweet,  innocent 
little  brother !"  exclaimed  Nancy,  bursting  into  tears, 
and  wringing  the  little  basket  and  the  street-door 
key  in  an  agony  of  distress.  "  What  has  become  of 
him!  Where  have  they  taken  him  to !  Oh,  do  have 
pity,  and  tell  me  what's  been  done  with  the  dear 
boy,  gentlemen ;  do,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,  gentle 
men  !" 

Having  uttered  these  words  in  a  most  lamentable 
and  heart-broken  tone — to  the  immeasurable  delight 
of  her  hearers — Miss  Nancy  paused,  winked  to  the 
company,  nodded  smilingly  round,  and  disappeared. 

"Ah!  she's  a  clever  girl,  my  dears,"  said  the  Jew, 
turning  round  to  his  young  friends,  and  shaking  his 
head  gravely,  as  if  in  mute  admonition  to  them  to 
follow  the  bright  example  they  had  just  beheld. 

"  She's  a  honor  to  her  sex,"  said  Mr.  Sikes,  filling 
his  glass,  and  smiting  the  table  with  his  enormous 
fist.  "  Here's  her  health,  and  wishing  they  was  all 
like  her !" 

While  these  and  many  other  encomiums  were  be 
ing  passed  on  the  accomplished  Nancy,  that  young 
lady  made  the  best  of  her  way  to  the  police-office ; 
whither,  notwithstanding  a  little  natural  timidity 
consequent  upon  walking  through  the  streets  alone 
and  unprotected,  she  arrived  in  perfect  safety  short 
ly  afterward. 

Entering  by  the  back  way,  she  tapped  softly  with 
the  key  at  one  of  the  cell-doors,  and  listened.  There 
was  no  sound  within ;  so  she  coughed  and  listened 
again.  Still  there  was  no  reply :  so  she  spoke. 

"  Nolly,  dear  ?"  murmured  Nancy,  in  a  gentle  voice, 
"Nolly?" 

There  was  nobody  inside  but  a  miserable  shoeless 
criminal,  who  had  been  taken  up  for  playing  the 
flute,  and  who,  the  offense  against  society  having 
been  clearly  proved,  had  been  very  properly  commit 
ted  by  Mr.  Fang  to  the  House  of  Correction  for  one 
month;  with  the  appropriate  and  amusing  remark 
that  since  he  had  so  much  breath  to  spare,  it  would 
be  more  wholesomely  expended  on  the  tread  -  mill 
than  in  a  nmsical  instrument.  He  made  no  answer ; 
being  occupied  in  mentally  bewailing  the  loss  of  the 
flute,  which  had  been  confiscated  for  the  use  of  the 
county ;  so  Nancy  passed  on  to  the  next  cell,  and 
knocked  there. 

"  Well !"  cried  a  faint  and  feeble  voice. 


NANCY— THE  PICTURE. 


45 


"  Is  there  a  little  boy  here  ?"  inquired  Nancy,  with 
a  preliminary  sob. 

'•  No,"  replied  the  voice ;  "  God  forbid !" 

This  was  a  vagrant  of  sixty-five,  who  was  going  to 
prison  for  not  playing  the  flute ;  or,  in  other  words, 
for  begging  in  the  streets,  and  doing  nothing  for  his 
livelihood.  In  the  next  cell  was  another  man,  who 
was  going  to  the  same  prison  for  hawking  tin  sauce 
pans  without  a  license ;  thereby  doing  something  for 
his  living,  in  defiance  of  the  Stamp-office. 

But,  as  neither  of  these  criminals  answered  to  the 
name  of  Oliver,  or  knew  any  thing  about  him,  Nancy 
made  straight  up  to  the  bluff'  officer  in  the  striped 
waistcoat;  and  with  the  most  piteous  waitings  and 
lamentations,  rendered  more  piteous  by  a  prompt  and 
efficient  use  of  the  street-door  key  and  the  little  bas 
ket,  demanded  her  own  dear  brother. 

"7  haven't  got  him,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  screamed  Nancy,  in  a  distracted 
manner. 

"  Why,  the  gentleman's  got  him,"  replied  the  of 
ficer. 

"  What  gentleman  ?  Oh,  gracious  heavens !  What 
gentleman  f '  exclaimed  Nancy. 

In  reply  to  this  incoherent  questioning,  the  old 
man  informed  the  deeply-affected  sister  that  Oliver 
had  been  taken  ill  in  the  office,  and  discharged  in 
consequence  of  a  witness  having  proved  the  robbery 
to  have  been  committed  by  another  boy  not  in  cus 
tody  ;  and  that  the  prosecutor  had  carried  him  away, 
in  an  insensible  condition,  to  his  own  residence;  of 
and  concerning  which,  all  the  informant  knew  was, 
that  it  was  somewhere  at  Pentonville,  he  having 
heard  that  word  mentioned  in  the  directions  to  the 
coachman. 

In  a  dreadful  state  of  doubt  and  uncertainty,  the 
agonized  young  woman  staggered  to  the  gate,  and 
then,  exchanging  her  faltering  walk  for  a  swift  run, 
returned,  by  the  most  devious  and  complicated  route 
she  could  think  of,  to  the  domicile  of  the  Jew. 

Mr.  Bill  Sikes  no  sooner  heard  the  account  of  the 
expedition  delivered,  than  he  very  hastily  called  upon 
the  white  dog,  and,  putting  on  his  hat,  expeditiously 
departed  ;  without  devoting  any  time  to  the  formal 
ity  of  wishing  the  company  good-morning. 

"  We  must  know  where  he  is,  my  dears ;  he  must 
be  found,"  said  the  Jew,  greatly  excited.  "  Charley, 
do  nothing  but  skulk  about  till  you  bring  home  some 
news  of  him!  Nancy,  my  dear,  I  must  have  him 
found.  I  trust  to  you,  my  dear — to  you  and  the  Art 
ful,  for  every  thing !  Stay,  stay,"  added  the  Jew, 
unlocking  a  drawer  with  a  shaking  hand;  "there's 
money,  my  dears.  I  shall  shut  up  this  shop  to-night. 
You'll  know  Avhere  to  find  me!  Don't  stop  here  a 
minute.  Not  an  instant,  my  dears !" 

With  these  words,  he  pushed  them  from  the  room ; 
and  carefully  double-locking  and  barring  the  door 
behind  them,  drew  from  its  place  of  concealment  the 
box  which  he  had  unintentionally  disclosed  to  Oliver. 
Then  he  hastily  proceeded  to  dispose  the  watches  and 
jewelry  beneath  his  clothing. 

A  rap  at  the  door  startled  him  in  this  occupation. 
"  Who's  there  f"  he  cried  in  a  shrill  tone. 

"  Me !"  replied  the  voice  of  the  Dodger,  through 
the  key -hole. 

"  What  now  ?"  cried  the  Jew,  impatiently. 


"Is  he  to  be  kidnapped  to  the  other  ken,  Nancy 
says  ?"  inquired  the  Dodger. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Jew,""  wherever  she  lays  hands 
on  him.  Find  him,  find  him  out,  that's  all !  I  shall 
know  what  to  do  next ;  never  fear:" 

The  boy  murmured  a  reply  of  intelligence,  and 
hurried  down  stairs  after  his  companions. 

"  He  has  not  peached,  so  far,"  said  the  Jew,  as  he 
pursued  his  occupation.  "If  he  means  to  blab  us 
among  his  new  friends,  we  may  stop  his  mouth  yet." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

COMPRISING  FURTHER  PARTICULARS  OF  OLIVER'S  STAY  AT 
MR.  BROWNLOW'S,  WITH  THE  REMARKABLE  PREDICTION 
WHICH  ONE  MR.  GRIMWIG  UTTERED  CONCERNING  HIM, 
WHEN  HE  WENT  OUT  ON  AN  ERRAND. 

OLIVER  soon  recovering  from  the  fainting-fit  into 
which  Mr.  Brownlow's  abrupt  exclamation  had 
thrown  him,  the  subject  of  the  picture  was  carefully 
avoided,  both  by  the  old  gentleman  and  Mrs.  Bed  win, 
in  the  conversation  that  ensued ;  which  indeed  bore 
no  reference  to  Oliver's  history  or  prospects,  but  was 
confined  to  such  topics  as  might  amuse  without  ex 
citing  him.  He  was  still  too  weak  to  get  up  to 
breakfast ;  but,  when  he  came  down  into  the  house 
keeper's  room  next  day,  his  first  act  was  to  cast  an 
eager  glance  at  the  wall,  in  the  hope  of  again  look 
ing  on  the  face  of  the  beautiful  lady.  His  expecta 
tions  were  disappointed,  however,  for  the  picture  had 
been  removed. 

"Ah!"  said  the  housekeeper,  watching  the  direc 
tion  of  Oliver's  eyes.  "  It  is  gone,  you  see." 

"  I  see  it  is,  ma'am,"  replied  Oliver.  "  Why  have 
they  taken  it  away  I" 

"  It  has  been  taken  down,  child,  because  Mr.  Brown- 
low  said  that  as  it  seemed  to  worry  you,  perhaps  it 
might  prevent  your  getting  well,  you  know,"  rejoined 
the  old  lady. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed.  It  didn't  worry  me,  ma'am,"  said 
Oliver.  "  I  liked  to  see  it.  I  quite  loved  it." 

"  Well,  well !"  said  the  old  lady,  good-humoredly ; 
"  you  get  well  as  fast  as  ever  you  can,  dear,  and  it 
shall  be  hung  up  again.  There!  I  promise  you 
that !  Now,  let  us  talk  about  Something  else." 

This  was  all  the  information  Oliver  could  obtain 
about  the  picture  at  that  time.  As  the  old  lady  had 
been  so  kind  to  him  in  his  illness,  he  endeavored  to 
think  no  more  of  the  subject  just  then;  so  he  list 
ened  attentively  to  a  great  many  stories  she  told 
him,  about  an  amiable  and  handsome  daughter  of 
hers,  who  was  married  to  an  amiable  and  handsome 
man,  and  lived  in  the  country ;  and  about  a  son,  who 
was  clerk  to  a  merchant  in  the  West  Indies;  and 
who  was,  also,  such  a  good  young  man,  and  wrote 
such  dutiful  letters  home  four  times  a  year,  that  it 
brought  the  tears  into  her  eyes  to  talk  about  them. 
When  the  old  lady  had  expatiated,  a  long  time,  on 
the  excellences  of  her  children,  and  the  merits  of  her 
kind  good  husband  besides,  who  had  been  dead  and 
gone,  poor  dear  soul !  just  six-and-twenty  years,  it 
was  time  to  have  tea.  After  tea  she  began  to  teach 
Oliver  cribbage,  which  he  learned  as  quickly  as  she 
could  teach,  and  at  which  game  they  played,  with 


46 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


great  interest  and  gravity,  until  it  was  time  for  the 
invalid  to  have  some  warm  wine  and  water,  with  a 
slice  of  dry  toast,  and  then  to  go  cozily  to  bed. 

They  were  happy  days,  those  of  Oliver's  recovery. 
Every  thing  was  so  quiet,  and  neat,  and  orderly ; 
every  body  was  kind  and  gentle ;  that  after  the 
noise  and  turbulence  in  the  midst  of  which  he  had 
always  lived,  it  seemed  like  heaven  itself.  He  was 
uo  sooner  strong  enough  to  put  his  clothes  on  prop 
erly,  than  Mr.  Browulow  caused  a  complete  new  suit, 
and  a  new  cap,  and  a  new  pair  of  shoes,  to  be  pro 
vided  for  him.  As  Oliver  was  told  that  he  might  do 
what  he  liked  with  the  old  clothes,  he  gave  them  to 
a  servant  who  had  been  very  kind  to  him,  and  asked 
her  to  sell  them  to  a  Jew,  and  keep  the  money  for  her 
self.  This  she  very  readily  did ;  and,  as  Oliver  look 
ed  out  of  the  parlor  window,  and  saw  the  Jew  roll 
them  up  in  his  bag  and  walk  away,  he  felt  quite  de 
lighted  to  think  that  they  were  safely  gone,  and  that 
there  was  now  no  possible  danger  of  his  ever  being 
sMe  to  wear  them  again.  They  were  sad  rags,  to 
tell  the  truth ;  and  Oliver  had  never  had  a  new  suit 
before. 

One  evening,  about  a  week  after  the  affair  of  the 
picture,  as  he  was  sitting  talking  to  Mrs.  Bedwin, 
there  came  a  message  down  from  Mr.  Brownlow,  that 
if  Oliver  Twist  felt  pretty  well,  he  should  like  to  see 
him  in  his  study,  and  talk  to  him  a  little  while. 

"  Bless  us,  and  save  us !  Wash  your  hands,  and  let 
me  part  your  hair  nicely  for  you,  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Bedwiii.  "  Dear  heart  alive !  If  we  had  known  he 
would  have  asked  for  you,  we  would  have  put  you 
a  clean  collar  on,  and  made  you  as  smart  as  six 
pence  !" 

Oliver  did  as  the  old  lady  bade  him ;  and,  although 
she  lamented  grievously,  meanwhile,  that  there  was 
not  even  time  to  crimp  the  little  frill  that  bordered 
his  shirt-collar ;  he  looked  so  delicate  and  handsome, 
despite  that  important  personal  advantage,  that  she 
went  so  far  as  to  say,  looking  at  him  with  great  com 
placency  from  head  to  foot,  that  she  really  didn't 
think  it  would  have  been  possible,  on  the  longest 
notice,  to  have  made  much  difference  in  him  for  the 
better. 

Thus  encouraged,  Oliver  tapped  at  the  study  door. 
On  Mr.  Browulow  calling  to  him  to  come  in,  he  found 
himself  in  a  little  backroom  quite  full  of  books,  with 
a  window,  looking  into  some  pleasant  little  gardens. 
There  was  a  table  drawn  up  before  the  window,  at 
which  Mr.  Brownlow  was  seated  reading.  When  he 
saw  Oliver,  he  pushed  the  book  away  from  him,  and 
told  him  to  come  near  the  table,  and  sit  down.  Oli 
ver  complied ;  marveling  where  the  people  could  be 
found  to  read  such  a  great  number  of  books  as  seem 
ed  to  be  written  to  make  the  world  wiser.  Which 
is  still  a  marvel  to  more  experienced  people  than  Ol 
iver  Twist,  every  day  of  their  lives. 

"  There  are  a  good  many  books,  are  there  not,  my 
boy  ?"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  observing  the  curiosity 
with  which  Oliver  surveyed  the  shelves  that  reach 
ed  from  the  floor«to  the  ceiling. 

"  A  great  number,  sir,"  replied  Oliver.  "  I  never 
saw  so  many." 

"  You  shall  read  them,  if  you  behave  well,"  said  the 
old  gentleman  kindly  ;  "  and  you  will  like  that  bet 
ter  than  looking  at  the  outsides — that  is,  in  some 


cases ;  because  there  are  books  of  which  the  backs 
and  covers  are  by  far  the  best  parts." 

"  I  suppose  they  are  those  heavy  ones,  sir,"  said 
Oliver,  pointing  to  some  large  qxiartos,  with  a  good 
deal  of  gilding  about  the  binding. 

"  Not  always  those,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  pat 
ting  Oliver  on  the  head,  and  smiling  as  he  did  so ; 
"  there  are  other  equally  heavy  ones,  though  of  a 
much  smaller  size.  How  should  you  like  to  grow 
up  a  clever  man,  and  write  books,  eh  ?" 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  read  tiiern,  sir,"  replied 
Oliver. 

"  What !  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a  book- writer  ?" 
said  the  old  gentleman. 

Oliver  considered  a  little  while ;  and  at  last  said, 
he  should  think  it  would  be  a  much  better  thing  to  be 
a  book-seller ;  upon  which  the  old  gentleman  laugh 
ed  heartily,  and  declared  he  had  said  a  very  good 
thing.  Which  Oliver  felt  glad  to  have  done,  though 
he  by  no  means  knew  what  it  was. 

"  Well,  \vell,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  composing 
his  features.  "Don't  be  afraid!  We  won't  make 
an  author  of  you,  while  there's  an  honest  trade  to  be 
learned,  or  brick-making  to  turn  to." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Oliver.  At  the  earnest 
manner  of  his  reply,  the  old  gentleman  laughed 
again;  and  said  something  about  a  curious  instinct, 
which  Oliver,  not  understanding,  paid  no  very  great 
attention  to. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  speaking  if  possible  in 
a  kinder,  but  at  the  same  time  in  a  much  more  seri 
ous  manner,  than  Oliver  had  ever  known  him  assume 
yet ;  "  I  want  you  to  pay  great  attention,  my  boy,  to 
what  I  am  going  to  say.  I  shall  talk  to  you  with 
out  any  reserve ;  because  I  am  sure  you  are  as  well 
able  to  understand  me  as  many  older  persons  would 
be." 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  you  are  going  to  send  me  away, 
sir,  pray !"  exclaimed  Oliver,  alarmed  at  the  serious 
tone  of  the  old  gentleman's  commencement.  "  Don't 
turn  me  out-of-doors  to  wander  in  the  streets  again. 
Let  me  stay  here,  and  be  a  servant.  Don't  send  me 
back  to  the  wretched  place  I  came  from.  Have 
mercy  upon  a  poor  boy,  sir !" 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  moved  by 
the  warmth  of  Oliver's  sudden  appeal ;  "  you  need 
not  be  afraid  of  my  deserting  you,  unless  you  give 
me  cause." 

"  I  never,  never  will,  sir,"  interposed  Oliver. 

"  I  hope  not,"  rejoined  the  old  gentleman.  "  I  do 
not  think  you  ever  will.  I  have  been  deceived  be 
fore,  in  the  objects  whom  I  have  endeavored  to  ben 
efit  ;  but  I  feel  strongly  disposed  to  trust  you,  never 
theless;  and  I  am  more  interested  in  your  behalf 
than  I  can  well  account  for,  even  to  myself.  The 
persons  on  whom  I  have  bestowed  my  dearest  love 
lie  deep  in  their  graves ;  but,  although  the  happi 
ness  and  delight  of  my  life  lie  buried  there  too,  I 
have  not  made  a  coffin  of  my  heart,  and  sealed  it  up 
forever  on  my  best  affections.  Deep  affliction  has 
but  strengthened  and  refined  them." 

As  the  old  gentleman  said  this  in  a  low  voice — 
more  to  himself  than  to  his  companion — and  as  he 
remained  silent  for  a  short  time  afterward,  Oliver 
sat  quite  still. 

"  Well,  well !"  said  the  old  gentleman  at  length,  in 


MR.  GRIM  WIG. 


47 


a  more  cheerful  tone,  "  I  only  say  this  because  you 
have  a  young  heart ;  and  knowing  that  I  have  suf 
fered  great  pain  and  sorrow,  you  will  be  more  care 
ful,  perhaps,  not  to  wound  me  again.  You  say  you 
are  an  orphan,  without  a  friend  in  the  world;  all 
the  inquiries  I  have  been  able  to  make  confirm  this 
statement.  Let  me  hear  '  your  story ;  where  you 
come  from  ;  who  brought  you  up ;  and  how  you  got 
into  the  company  in  which  I  found  you.  Speak  the 
truth,  and  you  shall  not  be  friendless  while  I  live." 

Oliver's  sobs  checked  his  utterance  for  some  min 
utes  ;  when  he  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  to  re 
late  how  he  had  been  brought  up  at  the  farm,  and 
carried  to  the  work-house  by  Mr.  Bumble,  a  peculiar 
ly  impatient  little  double-knock  was  heard  at  the 
street-door ;  and  the  servant,  running  up  stairs,  an 
nounced  Mr.  Grimwig. 

"  Is  he  coming  up  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  servant.  "  He  asked  if  there 
were  any  muffins  in  the  house ;  and,  when  I  told  him 
yes,  he  said  he  had  come  to  tea." 

Mr.  Brownlow  smiled  ;  and,  turning  to  Oliver,  said 
that  Mr.  Grimwig  was  an  old  friend  of  his,  and  he 
must  not  mind  his  being  a  little  rough  in  his  man 
ners  ;  for  he  was  a  worthy  creature  at  bottom,  as  he 
had  reason  to  know. 

"  Shall  I  go  down  stairs,  sir  ?"  inquired  Oliver. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow,  "  I  would  rather  you 
remained  here." 

At  this  moment  there  walked  into  the  room,  sup 
porting  himself  by  a  thick  stick,  a  stout  old  gentle 
man,  rather  lame  in  one  leg,  who  was  dressed  in  a 
blue  coat,  striped  waistcoat,  nankeen  breeches  and 
gaiters,  and  a  broad-brimmed  white  hat,  with  the 
sides  turned  up  with  green.  A  very  small-plaited 
shirt  frill  stuck  out  from  his  waistcoat ;  and  a  very 
long  steel  watch-chain,  with  nothing  but  a  key  at 
the  end,  dangled  loosely  below  it.  The  ends  of  his 
white  neckerchief  were  twisted  into  a  ball  about  the 
size  of  an  orange;  the  variety  of  shapes  into  which 
his  countenance  was  twisted  defy  description.  He 
had  a  manner  of  screwing  his  head  on  one  side  when 
he  spoke,  and  of  looking  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
eyes  at  the  same  time,  which  irresistibly  reminded 
the  beholder  of  a  parrot.  In  this  attitude  he  fixed 
himself,  the  moment  he  made  his  appearance;  and, 
holding  out  a  small  piece  of  orange-peel  at  arm's 
length,  exclaimed,  in  a  growling,  discontented  voice, 

'•Look  here!  do  you  see  this!  Isn't  it  a  most 
wonderful  and  extraordinary  thing  that  I  can't  call 
at  a  man's  house  but  I  find  a  piece  of  this  poor 
surgeon's-friend  on  the  staircase  ?  I've  been  lamed 
witli  orange-peel  once,  and  I  know  orange-peel  will 
he  niy  death  at  last.  It  will,  sir:  orange-peel  will 
be  my  death,  or  I'll  be  content  to  eat  my  own  head, 
sir!'' 

This  was  the  handsome  offer  with  which  Mr.  Grim- 
wig  backed  and  confirmed  nearly  every  assertion  he 
made  ;  and  it  was  the  more  singular  in  his  case,  be 
cause,  even  admitting,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  the 
possibility  of  scientific  improvements  being  ever 
brought  to  that  pass  which  will  enable  a  gentleman 
to  eat  his  own  head  in  the  event  of  his  being  so  dis 
posed,  Mr.  Grimwig's  head  was  such  a  particularly 
large  one,  that  the  most  sanguine  man  alive  could 
hardly  entertain  a  hope  of  being  able  to  get  through 


it  at  a  sitting — to  put  entirely  out  of  the  question  a 
very  thick  coating  of  powder. 

"I'll  eat  my  head,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Grimwig, 
striking  his  stick  upon  the  ground.  "Halloo! 
what's  that?"  looking  at  Oliver,  and  retreating  a 
pace  or  two. 

"  This  is  young  Oliver  Twist,  whom  we  were 
speaking  about,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow. 

Oliver  bowed. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that's  the  boy  who  had 
the  fever,  I  hope  ?"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  recoiling  a  lit 
tle  taore.  "  Wait  a  minute !  Don't  speak !  Stop — " 
continued  Mr.  Grimwig,  abruptly,  losing  all  dread  of 
the  fever  in  his  triiunph  at  the  discovery ;  "  that's 
the  boy  wTho  had  the  orange !  If  that's  not  the  boy, 
sir,  who  had  the  orange,  and  threw  this  bit  of  peel 
upon  the  staircase,  I'll  eat  my  head,  and  his  too." 

"  No,  no,  he  has  not  had  one,"  said  Mr.  Browulow, 
laughing.  "  Come !  Put  down  your  hat ;  and  speak 
to  my  young  friend." 

"  I  feel  strongly  on  this  subject,  sir,"  said  the 
irritable  old  gentleman,  drawing  off  his  gloves. 
"  There's  always  more  or  less  orange-peel  on  the 
pavement  in  our  street ;  and  I  know  it's  put  there  by 
the  surgeon's  boy  at  the  corner.  A  young  woman 
stumbled  over  a  bit  last  night,  and  fell  against  my 
garden-railings ;  directly  she  got  up  I  saw  her  look 
toward  his  infernal  red  lamp  with  the  pantomime- 
light.  '  Don't  go  to  him,'  I  called  out  of  the  win 
dow,  '  he's  an  assassin !  A  man-trap !'  So  he  is.  If 
he  is  not —  '  Here  the  irascible  old  gentleman  gave 
a  great  knock  on  the  ground  with  his  stick ;  which 
was  always  understood  by  his  friends  to  imply  the 
customary  offer,  whenever  it  was  not  expressed  in 
words.  Then,  still  keeping  his  stick  in  his  hand,  he 
sat  down ;  and,  opening  a  double  eye-glass,  which  he 
wore  attached  to  a  broad  black  ribbon,  took  a  view 
of  Oliver ;  who,  seeing  that  he  was  the  object  of  in 
spection,  colored,  and  bowed  again. 

"  That's  the  boy,  is  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  at 
length. 

"  That  is  the  boy,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  How  are  you,  boy,"  said  Mr.  Grimwig. 

"A  great  deal  better,  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Oli 
ver. 

Mr.  Browiilow,  seeming  to  apprehend  that  his  sin 
gular  friend  was  about  to  say  something  disagreea 
ble,  asked  Oliver  to  step  down  stairs  and  tell  Mrs. 
Bed  win  they  were  ready  for  tea ;  which,  as  he  did 
not  half  like  the  visitor's  manner,  he  was  very  happy 
to  do. 

"He  is  a  nice-looking  boy,  is  he  not?"  inquired 
Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Grimwig,  pettishly. 

"  Don't  know  ?" 

"No.  I  don't  know.  I  never  see  any  difference 
in  boys.  I  only  know  two  sorts  of  boys.  Mealy 
boys,  and  beef-faced  boys." 

"And  which  is  Oliver?" 

"Mealy.  I  know  a  friend  who  has  a  beef-faced 
boy — a  fine  boy,  they  call  him ;  with  -a  round  head, 
and  fed  cheeks,  and  glaring  eyes ;  a  horrid  boy ;  with 
a  body  and  limbs  that  appear  to  be  swelling  out  of 
the  seams  of  his  blue  clothes ;  with  the  voice  of  a  pi 
lot,  and  the  appetite  of  a  wolf.  I  know  him !  The 
wretch !" 


48 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  "  these  are  not  the 
characteristics  of  young  Oliver  Twist ;  so  he  needn't 
excite  your  wrath." 

"  They  are  not,"  replied  Mr.  Grimwig.  "  He  may 
have  worse." 

Here  Mr.  Brownlow  coughed  impatiently ;  which 
appeared  to  afford  Mr.  Grimwig  the  most  exquisite 
delight. 

"  He  may  have  worse,  I  say,"  repeated  Mr.  Grim- 
wig.  "Where  does  he  come  from?  Who  is  he? 
What  is  he  ?  He  has  had  a  fever.  What  of  that  ? 
Fevers  are  not  peculiar  to  good  people ;  are  they  ? 
Bad  people  have  fevers  sometimes ;  haven't  they,  eh  ? 
I  knew  a  man  who  was  hung  in  Jamaica  for  mur 
dering  his  master.  He  had  had  a  fever  six  times ; 
he  wasn't  recommended  to  mercy  on  that  account. 
Pooh!  nonsense!" 

Now,  the  fact  was  that,  in  the  inmost  recesses  of 
his  own  heart,  Mr.  Grimwig  was  strongly  disposed  to 
admit  that  Oliver's  appearance  and  manner  were  un 
usually  prepossessing ;  but  he  had  a  strong  appetite 
for  contradiction,  sharpened  on  this  occasion  by  the 
finding  of  the  orange-peel ;  and,  inwardly  determin 
ing  that  no  man  should  dictate  to  him  whether  a 
boy  was  well-looking  or  not,  he  had  resolved,  from 
the  first,  to  oppose  his  friend.  When  Mr.  Brownlow 
admitted  that  on  no  one  point  of  inquiry  could  he 
yet  return  a  satisfactory  answer;  and  that  he  had 
postponed  any  investigation  into  Oliver's  previous 
history  until  he  thought  the  boy  was  strong  enough 
to  bear  it ;  Mr.  Grimwig  chuckled  maliciously.  And 
he  demanded,  with  a  sneer,  whether  the  housekeep 
er  was  in  the  habit  of  counting  the  plate  at  night ; 
because,  if  she  didn't  find  a  table-spoon  or  two  miss 
ing  some  sunshiny  morning,  why,  he  would  be  con 
tent  to — and  so  forth. 

All  this,  Mr.  Brownlow,  although  himself  some 
what  of  an  impetuous  gentleman,  knowing  his 
friend's  peculiarities,  bore  with  great  good -humor. 
As  Mr.  Grimwig,  at  tea,  was  graciously  pleased  to 
express  his  entire  approval  of  the  muffins,  matters 
went  on  very  smoothly ;  and  Oliver,  who  made  one 
of  the  party,  began  to  feel  more  at  his  ease  than  he 
had  yet  done  in  the  fierce  old  gentleman's  presence. 

"And  when  are  you  going  to  hear  a  full,  true,  and 
particular  account  of  the  life  and  adventures  of  Oli 
ver  Twist  f '  asked  Grimwig  of  Mr.  Brownlow,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  meal :  looking  sideways  at  Oliver, 
as  he  resumed  the  subject. 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  I 
would  rather  he  was  alone  with  me  at  the  time. 
Come  up  to  me  to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock, 
my  dear." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver.  He  answered  with  some 
hesitation,  because  he  was  confused  by  Mr.  Grimwig's 
looking  so  hard  at  him. 

"  111  tell  you  what,"  whispered  that  gentleman  to 
Mr.  Brownlow ;  "  he  won't  come  up  to  you  to-morrow 
morning.  I  saw  him  hesitate.  He  is  deceiving  you, 
my  good  friend." 

"I'll  swear  he  is  not,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow, 
warmly. 

"  If  he  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Grimwig, "  I'll — "  and  down 
went  the  stick. 

"I'll  answer  for  that  boy's  truth  with  my  life!" 
said  Mr.  Browulow,  knocking  the  table. 


"And  I  for  his  falsehood  with  my  head!"  rejoined 
Mr.  Grimwig,  knocking  the  table  also. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  checking  his 
rising  anger. 

"We  will,"  replied  Mr.  Grimwig,  with  a  provoking 
smile;  "we  will." 

As  fate  would  have  it,  Mrs.  Bedwin  chanced  to 
bring  in,  at  this  moment,  a  small  parcel  of  books, 
which  Mr.  Brownlow  had  that  morning  purchased 
of  the  identical  book-stall  keeper,  who  has  already 
figured  in  this  history ;  having  laid  them  on  the  ta 
ble,  she  prepared  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stop  the  boy,  Mrs.  Bedwiu !"  .said  Mr.  Brownlow  ; 
"  there  is  something  to  go  back." 

"  He  has  gone,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Bedwin. 

"  Call  after  him,"  said  Mr.  Browulow ;  "  it's  par 
ticular.  He  is  a  poor  man,  and  they  are  not  paid 
for.  There  are  some  books  to  be  taken  back,  too." 

The  street-door  was  opened.  Oliver  ran  one  way, 
and  the  girl  ran  another :  and  Mrs.  Bedwiu  stood  on 
the  step  and  screamed  for  the  boy ;  but  there  was 
no  boy  in  sight.  Oliver  and  the  girl  returned,  in  a 
breathless  state,  to  report  that  there  were  no  tidings 
of  him. 

"  Dear  me,  I  am  very  sorry  for  that !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Brownlow ;  "  I  particularly  wished  those  books 
to  be  returned  to-night." 

"  Send  Oliver  with  them,"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  with 
an  ironical  smile ;  "  he  will  be  sure  to  deliver  them 
safely,  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  do  let  me  take  them,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said 
Oliver.  "  I'll  run  all  the  way,  sir." 

The  old  gentleman  was  just  going  to  say  that  Oli 
ver  should  not  go  out  on  any  account,  when  a  most 
malicious  cough  from  Mr.  Grimwig  determined  him 
that  he  should ;  and  that,  by  his  prompt  discharge 
of  the  commission,  he  should  prove  to  him  the  injus 
tice  of  his  suspicious,  on  this  head  at  least,  at  once. 

"  You  shall  go,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
"  The  books  are  on  a  chair  by  my  table.  Fetch  them 
down." 

Oliver,  delighted  to  be  of  use,  brought  down  the 
books  under  his  arm  in  a  great  bustle ;  and  waited, 
cap  in  hand,  to  hear  what  message  he  was  to  take. 

"  You  are  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  glancing 
steadily  at  Grimwig ;  "  you  are  to  say  that  you  have 
brought  those  books  back ;  and  that  you  have  come 
to  pay  the  four  pound  ten  I  owe  him.  This  is  a  five- 
pound  note,  so  you  will  have  to  bring  me  back  ten 
shillings  change." 

"  I  won't  be  ten  minutes,  sir,"  replied  Oliver,  ea 
gerly.  Having  buttoned  up  the  bank-note  in  his 
jacket  pocket,  and  placed  the  books  carefully  under 
his  arm,  he  made  a  respectful  bow,  and  left  the  room. 
Mrs.  Bedwin  followed  him  to  the  street-door,  giving 
him  many  directions  about  the  nearest  way,  and  the 
name  of  the  book-seller,  and  the  name  of  the  street, 
all  of  which  Oliver  said  he  clearly  understood.  Hav 
ing  superadded  many  injunctions  to  be  sure  and  not 
take  cold,  the  old  lady  at  length  permitted  him  to 
depart. 

"  Bless  his  sweet  face !"  said  the  old  lady,  looking 
after  him.  "  I  can't  bear,  somehow,  to  let  him  go  out 
of  my  sight." 

At  this  moment  Oliver  looked  gayly  round,  and 
nodded  before  he  turned  the  coiner.  The  old  lady 


MUTUAL  INTEREST. 


49 


smilingly  returned  his  salutation,  and,  closing  the 
door,  went  back  to  her  own  room. 

"  Let  ine  see ;  he'll  be  back  in  twenty  minutes,  at 
the  longest,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  pulling  out  his 
watch  and  placing  it  on  the  table.  "  It  will  be  dark 
by  that  time." 

"  Oh !  you  really  expect  him  to  come  back,  do 
you  f '  inquired  Mr.  Griuiwig. 

"  Don't  you  ?"  asked  Mr.  Brownlow,  smiling. 

The  spirit  of  contradiction  was  strong  in  Mr.  Grim- 
wig's  breast  at  the  moment;  and  it  was  rendered 
stronger  by  his  friend's  confident  smile. 

"  No,"  he  said,  smiting  the  table  with  his  fist,  "  I 
do  not.  The  boy  has  a  new  suit  of  clothes  on  his 
back,  a  set  of  valuable  books  under  his  arm,  and  a 
five -pound  note  in  his  pocket.  He'll  join  his  old 
friends  the  thieves,  and  laugh  at  you.  If  ever  that 
boy  returns  to  this  house,  sir,  I'll  eat  my  head." 

With  these  words  he  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the 
table ;  and  there  the  two  friends  sat,  in  silent  ex 
pectation,  with  the  watch  between  them. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark,  as  illustrating  the  impor 
tance  we  attach  to  our  own  judgments,  and  the  pride 
with  which  we  put  forth  our  most  rash  and  hasty 
conclusions,  that,  although  Mr.  Grimwig  was  not  by 
any  means  a  bad-hearted  man,  and  though  he  would 
have  been  unfeiguedly  sorry  to  see  his  respected 
friend  duped  and  deceived,  he  really  did  most  ear 
nestly  and  strongly  hope  at  that  moment  that  Oli 
ver  Twist  might  not  come  back. 

It  grew  so  dark,  that  the  figures  on  the  dial-plate 
were  scarcely  discernible ;  but  there  the  two  old  gen 
tlemen  continued  to  sit,  in  silence,  with  the  watch 
between  them. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

SHOWING  HOW  VERT  FOND  OF  OLIVER  TWIST  THE  MERBT 
OLD   JEW  AND   MISS    NANCY  WERE. 

IN  the  obscure  parlor  of  a  low  public-house,  in  the 
filthiest  part  of  Little  Saffron  Hill — a  dark  and 
gloomy  den,  where  a  flaring  gas-light  burned  all  day 
in  the  winter -time,  and  where  no  ray  of  sun  ever 
shone  in  the  summer — there  sat,  brooding  over  a  lit 
tle  pewter  measure  and  a  small  glass,  strongly  im 
pregnated  with  the  smell  of  liquor,  a  man  in  a  vel 
veteen  coat,  drab  shorts,  half -boots,  and  stockings, 
whom  even  by  that  dim  light  no  experienced  agent 
of  police  would  have  hesitated  to  recognize  as  Mr. 
William  Sikes.  At  his  feet  sat  a  white-coated,  red- 
eyed  dog ;  who  occupied  himself,  alternately,  in  wink 
ing  at  his  master  with  both  eyes  at  the  same  time, 
and  in  licking  a  large,  fresh  cut  on  one  side  of  his 
mouth,  which  appeared  to  be  the  result  of  some  re 
cent  conflict. 

"  Keep  quiet,  you  warmint !  Keep  quiet !"  said 
Mr.  Sikes,  suddenly  breaking  silence.  Whether  his 
meditations  were  'so  intense  as  to  be  disturbed  by 
the  dog's  winking,  or  whether  his  feelings  were  so 
wrought  upon  by  his  reflections  that  they  required 
all  the  relief  derivable  from  kicking  an  unoffending 
animal  to  allay  them,  is  matter  for  argument  and 
consideration.  Whatever  was  the  cause,  the  effect 
was  a  kick  and  a  curse,  bestowed  upon  the  dog  si 
multaneously. 


Dogs  are  not  generally  apt  to  revenge  injuries  in 
flicted  upon  them  by  their  masters ;  but  Mr.  Sikes's 
dog,  having  faults  of  temper  in  common  with  his 
owner,  and  laboring,  perhaps,  at  this  moment,  under 
a  powerful  sense  of  injury,  made  no  more  ado  but  at 
once  fixed  his  teeth  in  one  of  the  half-boots.  Hav 
ing  given  it  a  hearty  shake,  he  retired,  growling,  un 
der  a  form ;  just  escaping  the.  pewter  measure  which 
Mr.  Sikes  leveled  at  his  head. 

"  You  would,  would  you  ?'•'  said  Sikes,  seizing  the 
poker  in  one  hand,  and  deliberately  opening  with 
the  other  a  large  clasp-knife,  which  he  drew  from 
his  pocket.  "  Come  here,  you  born  devil !  Come 
here !  D'ye  hear  ?" 

The  dog  no  doubt  heard,  because  Mr.  Sikes  spoke 
in  the  very  harshest  key  of  a  very  harsh  voice ;  but, 
appearing  to  entertain  some  unaccountable  objection 
to  having  his  throat  cut,  he  remained  where  he  was, 
and  growled  more  fiercely  than  before :  at  the  same 
time  grasping  the  end  of  the  poker  between  his  teeth, 
and  biting  at  it  like  a  wild  beast. 

This  resistance  only  infuriated  Mr.  Sikes  the  more ; 
who,  dropping  on  his  knees,  began  to  assail  the  ani 
mal  most  furiously.  The  dog  jumped  from  right  to 
left,  and  from  left  to  right :  snapping,  growling,  and 
barking ;  the  man  thrust  and  swore,  and  struck  and 
blasphemed ;  and  the  struggle  was  reaching  a  most 
critical  point  for  one  or  other ;  when,  the  door  sud 
denly  opening,  the  dog  darted  out,  leaving  Bill  Sikes 
with  the  poker  and  clasp-knife  in  his  hands. 

There  must  always  be  two  parties  to  a  quarrel, 
says  the  old  adage.  Mr.  Sikes,  being  disappointed 
of  the  dog's  participation,  at  once  transferred  his 
share  in  the  quarrel  to  the  new-comer. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  come  in  between  me  and 
my  dog  for  ?"  said  Sikes,  with  a  fierce  gesture. . 

"  I  didn't  know,  my  dear,  I  didn't  know,"  replied 
Fagin,  humbly ;  for  the  Jew  was  the  new-comer. 

"  Didn't  know,  you  white-livered  thief!"  growled 
Sikes.  "  Couldn't  you  hear  the  noise  ?" 

"  Not  a  sound  of  it,  as  I'm  a  living  man,  Bill,"  re 
plied  the  Jew. 

"  Oh  no !  You  hear  nothing,  you  don't,"  retorted 
Sikes  with  a  fierce  sneer.  "  Sneaking  in  and  out,  so 
as  nobody  hears  how  you  come  or  go !  I  wish  you 
had  been  the  dog,  Fagin,  half  a  minute  ago." 

"Why  ?"  inquired  the  Jew,  with  a  forced  smile. 

"  'Cause  the  Government,  as  cares  for  the  lives  of 
such'  men  as  you,  as  haven't  half  the  pluck  of  curs, 
let's  a  man  kill  a  dog  how  he  likes,"  replied  Sikes, 
shutting  up  the  knife  with  a  very  expressive  look  ; 
"  that's  why." 

The  Jew  nibbed  his  hands ;  and,  sitting  down  at 
the  table,  affected  to  laugh  at  the  pleasantry  of  his 
friend.  He  was  obviously  very  ill  at  ease,  how 
ever. 

"  Grin  away,"  said  Sikes,  replacing  the  poker,  and 
surveying  him  with  savage  contempt ;  "  grin  away. 
You'll  never  have  the  laugh  at  me,  though,  unless  it's 
behind  a  night-cap.  I've  got  the  upper  hand  over 
you,  Fa^in ;  and,  d —  me,  I'll  keep  it.  There !  If  I 
go,  you  {.{O ;  so  take  care  of  me." 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew,  "  I  know  all 
that ;  we- — we — have  a  mutual  interest,  Bill — a  mu 
tual  interest." 

"  Humph !"  said  Sikes,  as  if  he  thought  the  inter- 


50 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


est  lay  rather  more  on  the  Jew's  side  than  on  his. 
"Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"  It's  all  passed  safe  through  the  melting-pot,"  re 
plied  Fagin,  "and  this  is  your  share.  It's  rather 
more  than  it  ought  to  be,  my  dear ;  but  as  I  know 
you'll  do  me  a  good  turn  another  time,  and — " 

"  Stow  that  gammon !"  interposed  the  robber,  im 
patiently.  "  Where  is  it  ?  Hand  over !" 

"  Yes,  yes,  Bill ;  give  me  time,  give  me  time,"  re 
plied  the  Jew,  soothingly.  "  Here  it  is !  All  safe !" 
As  he  spoke,  he  drew  forth  an  old  cotton  handker 
chief  from  his  breast ;  and  untying  a  large  knot  in 
one  corner,  produced  a  small  brown-paper  packet. 
Sikes,  snatching  it  from  him,  hastily  opened  it,  and 
proceeded  to  count  the  sovereigns  it  contained. 

"  This  is  all,  is  it  ?"  inquired  Sikes. 

"All,"  replied  the  Jew. 

"You  haven't  opened  the  parcel  and  swallowed 
one  or  two  as  you  come  along,  have  you  ?"  inquired 
Sikes,  suspiciously.  "  Don't  put  on  an  injured  look 
at  the  question :  you've  done  it  many  a  time.  Jerk 
the  tinkler." 

These  words,  in  plain  English,  conveyed  an  injunc 
tion  to  ring  the  bell.  It  was  answered  by  another 
Jew,  younger  than  Fagin,  but  nearly  as  vile  and  re 
pulsive  in  appearance. 

Bill  Sikes  merely  pointed  to  the  empty  measure. 
The  Jew,  perfectly  understanding  the  hint,  retired 
to  fill  it;  previously  exchanging  a  remarkable  look 
with  Fagin,  who  raised  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  as  if 
in  expectation  of  it,  and  shook  his  head  in  reply ;  so 
slightly  that  the  action  would  have  been  almost  im 
perceptible  to  an  observant  third  person.  It  was 
lost  upon  Sikes,  who  was  stooping  at  the  moment  to 
tie  the  boot-lace  which  the  dog  had  torn.  Possibly, 
if  he  had  observed  the  brief  interchange  of  signals, 
he  might  have  thought  that  it  boded  no  good  to  him. 

"  Is  any  body  here,  Barney  ?"  inquired  Fagin ; 
speaking,  now  that  Sikes  was  looking  on,  without 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"  Dot  a  shoul,"  replied  Barney ;  whose  words, 
whether  they  came  from  the  heart  or  not,  made 
their  way  through  the  nose. 

"  Nobody  ?"  inquired  Fagin,  in  a  tone  of  surprise ; 
which  perhaps  might  mean  that  Barney  was  at  lib 
erty  to  tell  the  truth. 

"  Dobody  but  Biss  Dadsy,"  replied  Barney. 

"  Nancy !"  exclaimed  Sikes.  "  Where  ?  Strike  me 
blind,  if  I  don't  honor  that  'ere  girl,  for  her  native 
talents." 

"  She's  bid  havid  a  plate  of  boiled  beef  id  the  bar," 
replied  Barney. 

"  Send  her  here,"  said  Sikes,  pouring  out  a  glass 
of  liquor.  "  Send  her  here." 

Barney  looked  timidly  at  Fagin,  as  if  for  permis 
sion  :  the  Jew  remaining  silent,  and  not  lifting  his 
eyes  from  the  ground,  he  retired ;  and  presently  re 
turned,  ushering  in  Nancy ;  who  was  decorated  with 
the  bonnet,  apron,  basket,  and  street-door  key,  com 
plete. 

"  You  are  on  the  scent,  are  you,  Nancy  ?"  inquired 
Sikes,  proffering  the  glass. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Bill,"  replied  the  young  lady,  dispos 
ing  of  its  contents ;  "  and  tired  enough  of  it  I  am, 
too.  The  young  brat's  been  ill  and  confined  to  the 
crib;  and — " 


"  Ah,  Nancy,  dear !"  said  Fagin,  looking  up. 

Now,  whether  a  peculiar  contraction  of  the  Jew's 
red  eyebrows,  and  a  half-closing  of  his  deeply-set 
eyes,  warned  Miss  Nancy  that  she  was  disposed  to  be 
too  communicative,  is  not  a  matter  of  much  impor 
tance.  The  fact  is  all  we  need  care  for  here ;  and 
the  fact  is,  that  she  suddenly  checked  herself,  and 
with  several  gracious  smiles  upon  Mr.  Sikes,  turned 
the  conversation  to  other  matters.  In  about  ten  min 
utes'  time,  Mr.  Fagin  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  cough 
ing  ;  upon  which  Nancy  pulled  her  shawl  over  her 
shoulders,  and  declared  it  was  time  to  go.  Mr.  Sikes, 
finding  that  he  was  walking  a  short  part  of  her  way 
himself,  expressed  his  intention  of  accompanying 
her ;  they  went  away  together,  followed,  at  a  little 
distance,  by  the  dog,  who  slunk  out  of  a  back-yard 
soon  as  his  master  was  out  of  sight. 

The  Jew  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  room  door  when 
Sikes  had  left  it ;  looked  after  him  as  he  walked  up 
the  dark  passage ;  shook  his  clenched  fist ;  muttered 
a  deep  curse ;  and  then,  with  a  horrible  grin,  re-seat 
ed  himself  at  the  table ;  where  he  was  soon  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  interesting  pages  of  the  Hue-and- 
Cry. 

Meanwhile,  Oliver  Twist,  little  dreaming  that  he 
was  within  so  very  short  a  distance  of  the  merry  old 
gentleman,  was  on  his  way  to  the  book-stall.  When 
he  got  into  Clerkenwell,  he  accidentally  turned  down 
a  by-street  which  was  not  exactly  in  his  way ;  but 
not  discovering  his  mistake  until  he  had  got  half 
way  down  it,  and  knowing  it  must  lead  in  the  right 
direction,  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  turn 
back;  and  so  marched  on,  as  quickly  as  he  could, 
with  the  books  under  his  arm. 

He  was  walking  along,  thinking  how  happy  and 
contented  he  ought  to  feel ;  and  how  much  he  would 
give  for  only  one  look  at  poor  little  Dick,  who, 
starved  and  beaten,  might  be  weeping  bitterly  at 
that  very  moment ;  when  he  was  startled  by  a  young 
woman  screaming  out  very  loud,  "  Oh,  my  dear  broth 
er !"  And  he  had  hardly  looked  up,  to  see  what  the 
matter  was,  when  he  was  stopped  by  having  a  pair 
of  arms  thrown  tight  round  his  neck. 

"  Don't !"  cried  Oliver,  struggling.  "  Let  go  of  me ! 
Who  is  it  ?  What  are  you  stopping  me  for  ?" 

The  only  reply  to  this  was  a  great  number  of  loud 
lamentations  from  the  young  woman  Avho  had  em 
braced  him ;  and  who  had  a  little  basket  and  a  street- 
door  key  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh  my  gracious !"  said  the  young  woman,  "  I've 
found  him !  Oh !  Oliver !  Oliver !  Oh  you  naughty 
boy,  to  make  me  suffer  sich  distress  on  your  account ! 
Come  home,  dear,  come.  Oh,  I've  found  him !  Thank 
gracious  goodness  heavins,  I've  found  him !"  With 
these  incoherent  exclamations,  the  young  woman 
burst  into  another  fit  of  crying,  and  got  so  dreadful 
ly  hysterical,  that  a  couple  of  women  who  came  up 
at  the  moment  asked  a  butcher's  boy  with  a  shiny 
head  of  hair  anointed  with  suet,  who  was  also  look 
ing  on,  whether  he  didn't  think  he  had  better  run  for 
the  doctor.  To  which,  the  butcher's  boy,  who  ap 
peared  of  a  lounging,  not  to  say  indolent  disposition, 
replied  that  he  thought  not. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  never  mind,"  said  the  young  woman, 
grasping  Oliver's  hand ;  "  I'm  better  now.  Come 
home  directly,  you  cruel  boy !  Come !" 


HIS  RECAPTURE. 


51 


"What's  the  matter,  ma'am  ?"  inquired,  one  of  the 
women. 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  replied  the  young  woman,  "  he  ran 
away,  near  a  month  ago,  from  his  parents,  who  are 
hard-working  and  respectable  people ;  and  went  and 
joined  a  set  of  thieves  and  bad  characters ;  and  al 
most  broke  his  mother's  heart." 

"  Young  wretch !"  said  one  woman. 

"  Go  home,  do,  you  little  brute !"  said  the  other. 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  Oliver,  greatly  alarmed.  "  I 
don't  -know  her.  I  haven't  any  sister,  or  father  and 
mother  either.  I'm  an  orphan;  I  live  at  Penton- 
ville." 


Help !  help !"  cried  Oliver,  struggling  in  the  man's 
powerful  grasp. 

"  Help !"  repeated  the  man.  "  Yes ;  I'll  help  you, 
you  young  rascal !  What  books  are  these  ?  You've 
been  a -stealing  'em,  have  you?  Give  'em  here." 
With  these  words,  the  man  tore  the  volumes  from 
his  grasp,  and  struck  him  on  the  head. 

"  That's  right !"  cried  a  looker-on,  from  a  garret- 
window.  "  That's  the  only  way  of  bringing  him  to 
his  senses !" 

"To  be  sure !"  cried  a  sleepy-faced  carpenter,  cast 
ing  an  approving  look  at  the  garret-window. 

"  It'll  do  him  good !"  said  the  two  women. 


••  YOU   AKE  ON   TUB  SCENT,  ARE   YOU,  NAMOY  ?" 


"  Only  hear  him,  how  he  braves  it  out !"  cried  the 
young  woman. 

"  Why,  it's  Nancy !"  exclaimed  Oliver ;  who  now 
saw  her  face  for  the  first  time ;  and  started  back  in 
irrepressible  astonishment. 

"  You  see  he  knows  me !"  cried  Nancy,  appealing 
to  the  by-standers.  "  He  can't  help  himself.  Make 
him  come  home,  there's  good  people,  or  he'll  kill  his 
dear  mother  and  father,  and  break  my  heart !" 

"What  the  devil's  this?"  said  a  man,  bursting  out 
of  a  beer-shop,  with  a  white  dog  at  his  heels ;  "  young 
Oliver !  Come  home  to  your  poor  mother,  you  young 
dog !  Come  home  directly." 

"I  don't  belong  to  them.     I  don't  know  them. 


"And  he  shall  have  it,  too !"  rejoined  the  man,  ad 
ministering  another  blow,  and  seizing  Oliver  by  the 
collar.  "  Come  on,  you  young  villain !  Here,  Bull's- 
eye,  mind  him,  boy !  Mind  him !" 

Weak  with  recent  illness ;  stupefied  by  the  blows 
and  the  suddenness  of  the  attack ;  terrified  by  the 
fierce  growling  of  the  dog,  and  the  brutality  of  the 
man ;  overpowered  by  the  conviction  of  the  by-stand 
ers  that  he  really  was  the  hardened  little  wretch  he 
was  described  to  be ;  what  could  one  poor  child  do ! 
Darkness  had  set  in ;  it  was  a  low  neighborhood ;  no 
help  was  near;  resistance  was  useless.  In  another 
moment  he  was  dragged  into  &  labyrinth  of  dark 
narrow  courts,  and  was  forced  along  them  at  a  pace 


52 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


which  rendered  the  few  cries  he  dared  to  give  utter 
ance  to,  unintelligible.  It  was  of  little  moment,  in 
deed,  whether  they  were  intelligible  or  no ;  for  there 
was  nobody  to  care  for  them,  had  they  been  ever  so 

plain. 

****** 

The  gas -lamps  were  lighted;  Mrs.  Bedwin  was 
waiting  anxiously  at  the  open  door ;  the  servant  had 
run  up  the  street  twenty  times  to  see  if  there  were 
any  traces  of  Oliver ;  and  still  the  two  old  gentlemen 
sat,  perseveringly,  in  the  dark  parlor,  with  the  watch 
between  them. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

RELATES    WHAT    BECAME    OF    OLIVER    TWIST    AFTER    HE 
HAD  BEEN  CLAIMED  BY  NANCY. 

THE  narrow  streets  and  courts  at  length  termina 
ted  in  a  large  open  space,  scattered  about  which 
were  pens  for  beasts,  and  other  indications  of  a  cat 
tle-market.  Sikes  slackened  his  pace  when  they 
reached  this  spot,  the  girl  being  quite  unable  to  slip- 
port  any  longer  the  rapid  rate  at  which  they  had 
hitherto  walked.  Turning  to  Oliver,  he  roughly 
commanded  him  to  take  hold  of  Nancy's  hand. 

"Do  you  hear?"  growled  Sikes,  as  Oliver  hesita 
ted,  and  looked  round. 

They  were  in  a  dark  corner,  quite  out  of  the  track 
of  passengers.  Oliver  saw  but  too  plainly  that  re 
sistance  would  be  of  no  avail.  He  held  out  his  hand, 
which  Nancy  clasped  tight  in  hers. 

"  Give  me  the  other,"  said  Sikes,  seizing  Oliver's 
unoccupied  hand.     "  Here,  Bull's-eye !" 
The  dog  looked  up  and  growled. 
"  See  here,  boy !"  said  Sikes,  putting  his  other  hand 
to  Oliver's  throat ;  "  if  he  speaks  ever  so  soft  a  word, 
hold  him !     D'ye  mind !" 

The  dog  growled  again ;  and  licking  his  lips,  eyed 
Oliver  as  if  he  were  anxious  to  attach  himself  to  his 
windpipe  without  delay. 

"  He's  as  willing  as  a  Christian,  strike  me  blind  if 
he  isn't!"  said  Sikes,  regarding  the  animal  with  a 
kind  of  grim  and  ferocious  approval.  "Now  you 
know  what  you've  got  to  expect,  master,  so  call  away 
as  quick  as  you  like;  the  dog  will  soon  stop  that 
game.  Get  on,  young  'un !" 

Bull's-eye  wagged  his  tail  in  acknowledgment  of 
this  unusually  endearing  form  of  speech ;  and,  giving 
vent  to  another  admonitory  growl  for  the  benefit  of 
Oliver,  led  the  way  onward. 

It  was  Smithfield  that  they  were  crossing,  al 
though  it  might  have  been  Grosvenor  Square  for 
any  thing  Oliver  knew  to  the  contrary.  The  night 
was  dark  and  foggy.  The  lights  in  the  shops  could 
scarcely  struggle  through  the  heavy  mist,  which 
thickened  every  moment  and  shrouded  the  streets 
and  houses  in  gloom;  rendering  the  strange  place 
still  stranger  in  Oliver's  eyes ;  and  making  his  un 
certainty  the  more  dismal  and  depressing. 

They  had  hurried  on  a  few  paces,  when  a  deep 
church-bell  struck  the  hour.  With  its  first  stroke 
his  two  conductors  stopped,  and  turned  their  heads 
in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  proceeded. 

"  Eight  o'clock,  Bill,"  said  Nancy,  when  the  bell 
ceased. 


"  What's  the  good  of  telling  me  that ;  I  can  hear 
it,  can't  I  ?"  replied  Sikes. 

"  I  wonder  whether  they  can  hear  it,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Of  course  they  can,"  replied  Sikes.  "  It  was  Bar- 
tlemy  time  when  I  was  shopped ;  and  there  waru't 
a  penny  trumpet  in  the  fair  as  I  couldn't  hear  the 
squeaking  on.  Arter  I  was  locked  up  for  the  night, 
the  row  and  din  outside  made  the  thundering  old 
jail  so  silent,  that  I  could  almost  have  beat  my  brains 
out  against  the  iron  plates  of  the  door." 

"  Poor  fellows !"  said  Nancy,  who  still  had  her  face 
turned  toward  the  quarter  in  which  the  bell  had 
sounded.  "  Oh,  Bill,  such  fine  young  chaps  as  them !" 

"  Yes ;  that's  all  you  women  think  of,"  answered 
Sikes.  "  Fine  young  chaps !  Well,  they're  as  good 
as  dead,  so  it  don't  much  matter." 

With  this  consolation  Mr.  Sikes  appeared  to  re 
press  a  rising  tendency  to  jealousy,  and,  clasping 
Oliver's  wrist  more  firmly,  told  him  to  step  out 
again. 

"  Wait  a  minute !"  said  the  girl,  "  I  wouldn't  hurry 
by  if  it  was  you  that  was  coming  out  to  be  hung  the 
next  time  eight  o'clock  struck,  Bill.  I'd  walk  round 
and  round  the  place  till  I  dropped,  if  the  snow  was 
on  the  ground,  and  I  hadn't  a  shawl  to  cover  me." 

"And  what  good  would  that  do?"  inquired  the 
unsentimental  Mr.  Sikes.  "  Unless  you  could  pitch 
over  a  file  and  twenty  yards  of  good  stout  rope,  you 
might  as  well  be  walking  fifty  mile  off,  or  not  walk 
ing  at  all,  for  all  the  good  it  would  do  me.  Come 
on,  and  don't  stand  preaching  there." . 

The  girl  burst  into  a  laugh,  drew  her  shawl  more 
closely  around  her,  and  theywalked  away.  But  Ol 
iver  felt  her  hand  tremble,  and,  looking  up  in  her 
face  as  they  passed  a  gas-lamp,  saw  that  it  had  turn 
ed  a  deadly  white. 

They  walked  on  by  little-frequented  and  dirty 
ways,  for  a  full  half  hour,  meeting  very  few  people, 
and  those  appearing  from  their  looks  to  hold  much 
the  same  position  in  society  as  Mr.  Sikes  himself.  At ' 
length  they  turned  into  a  very  filthy,  narrow  street, 
nearly  full  of  old-clothes  shops ;  the  dog  running  for 
ward,  as  if  conscious  that  there  was  no  further  occa 
sion  for  his  keeping  on  guard,  stopped  before  the 
door  of  a  shop  that  was  closed  and  apparently  un- 
tenanted;  the  house  was  in  a  ruinous  condition,  and 
on  the  door  was  nailed  a  board,  intimating  that  it 
was  to  let ;  which  looked  as  if  it  had  hung  there  for 
many  years. 

"All  right,"  cried  Sikes,  glancing  cautiously  about. 

Nancy  stooped  below  the  shutters,  and  Oliver 
heard  the  sound  of  a  bell.  They  crossed  to  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  street,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments 
under  a  lamp.  A  noise,  as  if  a  sash-window  were 
gently  raised,  was  heard;  and  soon  afterward  the 
door  softly  opened.  Mr.  Sikes  then  seized  the  terri 
fied  boy  by  the  collar  with  very  little  ceremony,  and 
all  three  were  quickly  inside  the  house. 

The  passage  was  perfectly  dark.  They  waited, 
while  the  person  who  had  let  them  in  chained  and 
barred  the  door. 

"Any  body  here?"  inquired  Sikes. 

"No,"  replied  a  voice,  which  Oliver  thought  he 
had  heard  before. 

"  Is  the  old  'un  here  ?"  asked  the  robber. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  voice ;  "  and  precious  down  in 


RESTORED   TO  PLEASANT  COMPANY. 


53 


the  month  he  has  been.  Won't  he  be  glad  to  see 
you?  Oh,  no!" 

The  style  of  this  reply,  as  well  as  the  voice  which 
delivered  it,  seemed  familiar  to  Oliver's  ears;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  distinguish  even  the  form  of  the 
speaker  in  the  darkness. 

"  Let's  have  a  glim,"  said  Sikes,  "  or  we  shall  go 
breaking  our  necks,  or  treading  on  the  dog.  Look 
after  your  legs  if  you  do!" 

"  Stand  still  a  moment,  and  I'll  get  you  one,"  re 
plied  the  voice.  The  receding  footsteps  of  the  speak 
er  were  heard ;  and,  in  another  minute,  the  form  of 
Mr.  John  Dawkius,  otherwise  the  artful  Dodger,  ap 
peared.  He  bore  in  his  right  hand  a  tallow  candle 
stuck  in  the  end  of  a  cleft  stick. 

The  young  gentleman  did  not  stop  to  bestow  any 
other  mark  of  recognition  upon  Oliver  than  a  humor 
ous  grin ;  but,  turning  away,  beckoned  the  visitors 
to  follow  him  down  a  flight  of  stairs.  They  crossed 
an  empty  kitchen ;  and,  opening  the  door  of  a  low, 
earthy-smelling  room,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
built  in  a  small  back-yard,  were  received  with  a 
shout  of  laughter. 

"  Oh,  my  wig,  my  wig !"  cried  Master  Charles 
Bates,  from  whose  lungs  the  laughter  had  proceed 
ed;  "here  he  is!  oh,  cry,  here  he  is!  Oh,  Fagin, 
look  at  him !  Fagin,  do  look  at  him !  I  can't  bear 
it ;  it  is  such  a  jolly  game,  I  can't  bear  it.  Hold  me, 
somebody,  while  I  laugh  it  out." 

With  this  irrepressible  ebullition  of  mirth,  Master 
Bates  laid  himself  flat  on  the  floor,  and  kicked  con 
vulsively  for  five  minutes,  in  an  ecstasy  of  facetious 
joy.  Then  jumping  to  his  feet,  he  snatched  the  cleft 
stick  from  the  Dodger ;  and,  advancing  to  Oliver, 
viewed  him  round  and  round ;  while  the  Jew,  tak 
ing  off'  his  night-cap,  made  a  great  number  of  low 
bows  to  the  bewildered  boy.  The  Artful,  meantime, 
who  Avas  of  a  rather  saturnine  disposition,  and  sel 
dom  gave  way  to  merriment  when  it  interfered  with 
business,  rifled  Oliver's  pockets  with  steady  assi 
duity. 

"  Look  at  his  togs,  Fagin !"  said  Charley,  putting 
the  light  so  close  to  his  new  jacket  as  nearly  to  set 
him  on  fire.  "Look  at  his  togs!  Superfine  cloth, 
and  the  heavy  swell  cut !  Oh,  my  eye,  what  a  game ! 
And  his  books,  too !  Nothing  but  a  gentleman,  Fa- 
gin  !" 

"  Delighted  to  see  you  looking  so  well,  my  dear," 
said  the  Jew,  bowing  with  mock  humility.  "  The 
Artful  shall  give  you  another  suit,  my  dear,  for  fear 
you  should  spoil  that  Sunday  one.  Why  didn't  you 
write,  my  dear,  and  say  you  were  coming  ?  We'd 
have  got  something  warm  for  supper." 

At  this  Master  Bates  roared  again,  so  loud  that 
Fagin  himself  relaxed,  and  even  the  Dodger  smiled ; 
but  as  the  Artful  drew  forth  the  five-pound  note  at 
that  instant,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  sally  or  the 
discovery  awakened  his  merriment. 

"  Halloo !  what's  that  ?"  inquired  Sikes,  stepping 
forward  as  the  Jew  seized  the  note.  "  That's  mine, 
Fagin." 

"No,  no,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew.  "Mine,  Bill, 
mine.  You  shall  have  the  books." 

"  If  that  ain't  mine,"  said  Bill  Sikes,  putting  on 
his  hat  with  a  determined  air — "  mine  and  Nancy's, 
that  is — I'll  take  the  boy  back  again." 


The  Jew  started.  Oliver  started  too,  though  from 
a  very  different  cause ;  for  he  hoped  that  the  dispute 
might  really  end  in  his  being  taken  back. 

"  Come !     Hand  over,  will  you  ?"  said  Sikes. 

"  This  is  hardly  fair,  Bill ;  hardly  fair,  is  it,  Nan 
cy  ?"  inquired  the  Jew. 

"  Fair  or  not  fair,"  retorted  Sikes,  "  hand  over,  I 
tell  you !  Do  you  think  Nancy  and  me  has  got  noth 
ing  else  to  do  with  our  precious  time  but  to  spend  it 
in  scouting  arter,  and  kidnapping,  every  young  boy 
as  gets  grabbed  through  you?  Give  it  here,  you 
avaricious  old  skeleton — give  it  here !" 

With  this  gentle  remonstrance,  Mr.  Sikes  plucked 
the  note  from  between  the  Jew's  finger  and  thumb ; 
and  looking  the  old  man  coolly  in  the  face,  folded  it 
up  small,  and  tied  it  in  his  neckerchief. 

"  That's  for  our  share  of  the  trouble,"  said  Sikes ; 
"  and  not  half  enough,  neither.  You  may  keep  the 
books,  if  you're  fond  of  reading.  If  you  ain't,  sell 
'em." 

"  They're  very  pretty,"  said  Charley  Bates,  who, 
with  sundry  grimaces,  had  been  affecting  to  read 
one  of  the  volumes  in  question  :  "  beautiful  writing, 
isn't  it,  Oliver  ?"  At  sight  of  the  dismayed  look  with 
which  Oliver  regarded  his  tormentors,  Master  Bates, 
who  was  blessed  with  a  lively  sense  of  the  ludicrous, 
fell  into  another  ecstasy,  more  boisterous  than  the 
first. 

"  They  belong  to  the  old  gentleman,"  said  Oliver, 
wringing  his  hands ;  "  to  the  good,  kind  old  gentle 
man  who  took  me  into  his  house,  and  had  me  nursed, 
when  I  was  near  dying  of  the  fever.  Oh,  pray  send 
them  back ;  send  him  back  the  books  and  money. 
Keep  me  here  all  my  life  long ;  but  pray,  pray  send 
them  back.  He'll  think  I  stole  them ;  the  old  lady — 
all  of  them  who  were  so  kind  to  me — will  think  I 
stole  them.  Oh,  do  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  send 
them  back !" 

With  those  words,  which  were  uttered  with  all 
the  energy  of  passionate  grief,  Oliver  fell  upon  his 
knees  at  the  Jew's  feet,  and  beat  his  hands  together 
in  perfect  desperation. 

"  The  boy's  right,"  remarked  Fagin,  looking  cov 
ertly  round,  and  knitting  his  shaggy  eyebrows  into 
a  hard  knot.  "  You're  right,  Oliver,  you're  right ; 
they  icill  think  you  have  stolen  'em.  Ha!  ha!" 
chuckled  the  Jew,  rubbing  his  hands ;  "  it  couldn't 
have  happened  better  if  we  had  chosen  our  time !" 

"  Of  course  it  couldn't,"  replied  Sikes ;  "  I  kuow'd 
that,  directly  I  see  him  coming  through  Clerkenwell, 
with  the  books  under  his  arm.  It's  all  right  enough. 
They're  soft-hearted  psalm-singers,  or  they  wouldn't 
have  taken  him  in  at  all ;  and  they'll  ask  no  ques 
tions  after  him,  fear  they  should  be  obliged  to  prose 
cute,  and  so  get  him  lagged.  He's  safe  enough." 

Oliver  had  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  while 
these  words  were  being  spoken,  as  if  he  were  bewil 
dered,  and  could  scarcely  understand  what  passed ; 
but  when  Bill  Sikes  concluded,  he  jumped  suddenly 
to  his  feet,  and  tore  wildly  from  the  room,  uttering 
shrieks  for  help,  which  made  the  bare  old  house  echo 
to  the  roof. 

"  Keep  back  the  dog,  Bill !"  cried  Nancy,  springing 
before  the  door,  and  closing  it,  as  the  Jew  and  his 
two  pupils  darted  out  iu  pursuit.  "  Keep  back  the 
dog ;  he'll  tear  the  boy  to  pieces !" 


54 


OLIVEE   TWIST. 


"  Serve  him  right !"  cried  Sikes,  struggling  to  dis 
engage  himself  from  the  girl's  grasp.  "  Stand  off 
from  me,  or  I'll  split  your  head  against  the  Avail !" 

"  I  don't  care  for  that,  Bill,  I  don't  care  for  that," 
screamed  the  girl,  struggling  violently  with  the  man : 
"  the  child  sha'n't  be  torn  down  by  the  dog,  unless 
you  kill  me  first." 

"Sha'n't  he!"  said  Sikes,  setting  his  teeth.  "I'll 
soon  do  that,  if  you  don't  keep  off." 

The  housebreaker  flung  the  girl  from  him  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  just  as  the  Jew  and  the  two 
boys  returned,  dragging  Oliver  among  them. 

"What's  the  matter  here?"  said  Fagin,  looking 
round. 

"  The  girl's  gone  mad,  I  think,"  replied  Sikes,  sav 
agely. 

"  No,  she  hasn't,"  said  Nancy,  pale  and  breathless 
from  the  scuffle ;  "  no,  she  hasn't,  Fagiu ;  don't  think 
it." 

"  Then  keep  quiet,  will  you  ?"  said  the  Jew,  with 
a  threatening  look. 

"No,  I  won't  do  that,  neither,"  replied  Nancy, 
speaking  very  loud.  "  Come !  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

Mr.  Fagin  was  sufficiently  well  acquainted  with 
the  manners  and  customs  of  that  particular  species 
of  humanity  to  which  Nancy  belonged  to  feel  toler 
ably  certain  that  it  would  be  rather  unsafe  to  pro 
long  any  conversation  with  her  at  present.  With 
the  view  of  diverting  the  attention  of  the  company, 
he  turned  to  Oliver. 

"  So  you  wanted  to  get  away,  my  dear,  did  you  ?" 
said  the  Jew,  taking  up  a  jagged  and  knotted  club 
which  lay  in  a  corner  of  the  fire-place ;  "  eh  ?" 

Oliver  made  no  reply.  But  he  watched  the  Jew's 
motions,  and  breathed  quickly. 

*''  Wanted  to  get  assistance ;  called  for  the  police, 
did  you  ?"  sneered  the  Jew,  catching  the  boy  by  the 
arm.  "  We'll  cure  you  of  that,  my  young  master." 

The  Jew  inflicted  a  smart  blow  on  Oliver's  shoul 
ders  with  the  club ;  and  was  raising  it  for  a  second, 
when  the  girl,  rushing  forward,  wrested  it  from  his 
hand.  She  flung  it  into  the  fire,  with  a  force  that 
brought  some  of  the  glowing  coals  whirling  out  into 
the  room. 

"  I  won't  stand  by  and  see  it  done,  Fagin,"  cried 
the  girl.  "  You've  got  the  boy,  and  what  more  would 
you  have  ?  Let  him  be — let  him  be — or  I  shall  put 
that  mark  on  some  of  you,  that  will  bring  me  to  the 
gallows  before  my  time." 

The  girl  stamped  her  foot  violently  on  the  floor  as 
she  vented  this  tlireat ;  and  with  her  lips  compress 
ed,  and  her  hands  clenched,  looked  alternately  at  the 
Jew  and  the  other  robber :  her  face  quite  colorless 
from  the  passion  of  rage  into  which  she  had  gradu 
ally  worked  herself. 

"  Why,  Nancy,"  said  the  Jew,  in  a  soothing  tone ; 
after  a  pause,  during  which  he  and  Mr.  Sikes  had 
stared  at  one  another  in  a  disconcerted  manner; 
"  you — you're  more  clever  than  ever  to-night.  Ha ! 
ha !  my  dear,  you  are  acting  beautifully." 

"  Am  I  ?"  said  the  girl.  "  Take  care  I  don't  overdo 
it.  You  will  be  the  worse  for  it,  Fagin,  if  I  do ;  and 
so  I  tell  you  in  good  time  to  keep  clear  of  me." 

There  is  something  about  a  roused  woman :  espe 
cially  if  she  add  to  all  her  other  strong  passions  the 


fierce  impulses  of  recklessness  and  despair:  which 
few  men  like  to  provoke.  The  Jew  saw  that  it 
would  be  hopeless  to  affect  any  further  mistake  re 
garding  the  reality  of  Miss  Nancy's  rage ;  and,  shrink 
ing  involuntarily  back  a  few  paces,  cast  a  glance, 
half  imploring  and  half  cowardly,  at  Sikes :  as  if  to 
hint  that  he  was  the  fittest  person  to  pursue  the  dia 
logue. 

Mr.  Sikes,  thus  mutely  appealed  to ;  and  possibly 
feeling  his  personal  pride  and  influence  interested  in 
the  immediate  reduction  of  Miss  Nancy  to  reason; 
gave  utterance  to  about  a  couple  of  score  of  curses 
and  threats,  the  rapid  production  of  which  reflected 
great  credit  on  the  fertility  of  his  invention.  As 
they  produced  no  visible  effect  on  the  object  against 
whom  they  were  discharged,  however,  he  resorted  to 
more  tangible  arguments. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this  ?"  said  Sikes ;  back 
ing  the  inquiry  with  a  very  common  imprecation 
concerning  the  most  beautiful  of  human  features; 
which,  if  it  were  heard  aboA'e,  only  once  out  of  ev 
ery  fifty  thousand  times  that  it  is  uttered  below, 
would  render  blindness  as  common  a  disorder  as 
measles :  "  what  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  Burn  my  body ! 
Do  you  know  who  you  are,  and  what  you  are  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  all  about  it,"  replied  the  girl, 
laughing  hysterically,  and  shaking  her  head  from 
side  to  side  with  a  poor  assumption  of  indifference. 

"Well,  then,  keep  quiet,"  rejoined  Sikes,  with  a 
growl  like  that  he  was  accustomed  to  use  when  ad 
dressing  his  dog,  "  or  I'll  quiet  you  for  a  good  long 
time  to  come." 

The  girl  laughed  again,  even  less  composedly  than 
before ;  and,  darting  a  hasty  look  at  Sikes,  turned 
her  face  aside,  and  bit  her  lip  till  the  blood  came. 

"  You're  a  nice  one,"  added  Sikes,  as  he  surveyed 
her  with  a  contemptuous  air,  "to  take  up  the  hu 
mane  and  gen-teel  side!  A  pretty  subject  for  the 
child,  as  you  call  him,  to  make  a  friend  of!" 

"  God  Almighty  help  me,  I  am !"  cried  the  girl  pas 
sionately  ;  "  and  I  wish  I  had  been  struck  dead  in  the 
street,  or  changed  places  with  them  we  passed  so 
near  to-night,  before  I  had  lent  a  hand  in  bringing 
him  here.  He's  a  thief,  a  liar,  a  devil,  all  that's  bad, 
from  this  night  forth.  Isn't  that  enough  for  the  old 
Avretch,  without  blows  ?" 

"  Come,  come,  Sikes,"  said  the  Jew,  appealing  to 
him  in  a  reinonstratory  tone,  and  motioning  toward 
the  boys,  who  were  eagerly  attentive  to  all  that 
passed ;  "  we  must  have  civil  words — civil  words, 
Bill." 

"  Civil  words !"  cried  the  girl,  whose  passion  was 
frightful  to  see.  "Civil  words,  you  villain!  Yes, 
you  deserve  'em  from  me.  I  thieved  for  you  when  I 
was  a  child  not  half  as  old  as  this !"  pointing  to  Oli 
ver.  "  I  have  been  in  the  same  trade,  and  in  the 
same  service,  for  twelve  years  since.  Don't  you  kuow 
it  ?  Speak  out !  Don't  you  know  it  ?" 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  the  Jew,  with  an  attempt  at 
pacification ;  "  and,  if  you  have,  it's  your  living." 

"Ay,  it  is!"  returned  the  girl;  not  speaking,  but 
pouring  out  the  words  in  one  continuous  and  vehe 
ment  scream.  "  It  is  my  living,  and  the  cold,  wet, 
dirty  streets  are  my  home ;  and  you're  the  wretch 
that  drove  me  to  them  long  ago,  and  that'll  keep  me 
there,  day  and  night,  day  and  night,  till  I  die !" 


MR.  BUMBLE,  THE  BEADLE. 


55 


"  I  shall  do  you  a  mischief!"  interposed  the  Jew, 
goaded  by  these  reproaches  ;  "  a  mischief  worse  than 
that,  if  you  say  much  more !" 

The  girl  said  nothing  more ;  but  tearing  her  hair 
and  dress  in  a  transport  of  passion,  made  such  a  rush 
at  the  Jew  as  would  probably  have  left  signal  marks 
of  her  revenge  upon  him,  had  not  her  wrists  been 
seized  by  Sikes  at  the  right  moment ;  upon  which 
she  made  a  few  ineffectual  struggles,  and  fainted. 

"  She's  all  right  now,"  said  Sikes,  laying  her  down 
in  a  corner.  "  She's  uncommon  strong  in  the  arms, 
when  she's  up  in  this  way." 

The  Jew  wiped  his  forehead,  and  smiled,  as  if  it 
were  a  relief  to  have  the  disturbance  over ;  but  nei 
ther  he,  nor  Sikes,  nor  the  dog,  nor  the  boys,  seemed 
to  consider  it  in  any  other  light  than  a  common  oc 
currence  incidental  to  business. 

"  It's  the  worst  of  having  to  do  with  women,"  said 
the  Jew,  replacing  his  club ;  "  but  they're  clever,  and 
we  can't  get  on,  in  our  line,  without  'em.  Charley, 
show  Oliver  to  bed." 

"  I  suppose  he'd  better  not  wear  his  best  clothes 
to-morrow,  Fagin,  had  he  ?"  inquired  Charley  Bates. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  Jew,  reciprocating  the 
grin  with  which  Charley  put  the  question. 

Master  Bates,  apparently  much  delighted  with  his 
commission,  took  the  cleft  stick,  and  led  Oliver  into 
an  adjacent  kitchen,  where  there  were  two  or  three 
of  the  beds  on  which  he  had  slept  before ;  and  here, 
with  many  uncontrollable  bursts  of  laughter,  he  pro 
duced  the  identical  old  suit  of  clothes  which  Oliver 
had  so  much  congratulated  himself  upon  leaving  off 
at  Mr.  Browulow's ;  and  the  accidental  display  of 
which,  to  Fagin,  by  the  Jew  who  purchased  them, 
had  been  the  very  first  clue  received  of  his  where 
about. 

"  Pull  off  the  smart  ones,"  said  Charley,  "  and  I'll 
give  'em  to  Fagin,  to  take  care  of.  What  fun  it  is !" 

Poor  Oliver  unwillingly  complied.  Master  Bates 
rolling  up  the  new  clothes  under  his  arm,  departed 
from  the  room,  leaving  ©liver  in  the  dark,  and  lock 
ing  the  door  behind  him. 

The  noise  of  Charley's  laughter,  and  the  voice  of 
Miss  Betsy,  who  opportunely  arrived  to  throw  water 
over  her  friend,  and  perform  other  feminine  offices 
for  the  promotion  of  her  recovery,  might  have  kept 
many  people  awake  under  more  happy  circumstances 
than  those  in  which  Oliver  was  placed.  But  ho  was 
sick  and  weary ;  and  ho  soon  fell  sound  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

OLIVER'S  DESTINY  CONTINUING  UNPROPITIOUS,  BRINGS  A 
GREAT  MAN  TO  LONDON  TO  INJURE  HIS  REPUTATION. 

IT  is  the  custom  on  the  stage,  in  all  good  murder 
ous  melodramas,  to  present  the  tragic  and  the 
comic  scenes,  in  as  regular  alternation,  as  the  layers 
of  red  and  white  in  a  side  of  streaky  bacon.  The 
hero  sinks  upon  his  straw  bed,  weighed  down  by 
fetters  and  misfortunes  ;  in  the  next  scene,  his  faith 
ful  but  unconscious  squire  regales  the  audience  with 
a  comic  song.  We  behold,  with  throbbing  bosoms, 
the  heroine  in  the  grasp  of  a  proud  and  ruthless 
baron,  her  virtue  and  her  life  alike  in  danger,  draw 


ing  forth  her  dagger  to  preserve  the  one  at  the  cost 
of  the  other ;  and  just  as  our  expectations  are  wrought 
up  to  the  highest  pitch,  a  whistle  is  heard,  and  we 
are  straightway  transported  to  the  great  hall  of  the 
castle  ;  where  a  gray-headed  seneschal  sings  a  funny 
chorus  with  a  funnier  body  of  vassals,  who  are  free 
of  all  sorts  of  places,  from  church  vaults  to  palaces, 
and  roam  about  in  company,  carolling  perpetually. 

Such  changes  appear  absurd ;  but  they  are  not  so 
unnatural  as  they  would  seem  at  first  sight.  The 
transitions  in  real  life  from  well-spread  boards  to 
death-beds,  and  from  mourning  weeds  to  holiday 
garments,  are  not  a  whit  less  startling ;  only  there 
we  are  busy  actors,  instead  of  passive  lookers-on, 
which  makes  a  vast  difference.  The  actors  in  the 
mimic,  life  of  the  theatre  are  blind  to  violent  transi 
tions  and  abrupt  impulses  of  passion  or  feeling, 
which,  presented  before  the  eyes  of  mere  spectators, 
are  at  once  condemned  as  outrageous  and  prepos 
terous. 

As'sudden  shiftings  of  the  scene,  and  rapid  changes 
of  time  and  place,  are  not  only  sanctioned  in  books 
by  long  usage,  but  are  by  many  considered  as  the 
great  art  of  authorship — an  author's  skill  in  his  craft, 
being,  by  such  critics,  chiefly  estimated  with  rela 
tion  to  the  dilemmas  in  which  he  leaves  his  charac 
ters  at  the  end  of  every  chapter— this  brief  introduc 
tion  to  the  present  one  may  perhaps  be  deemed  un 
necessary.  If  so,  let  it  be  considered  a  delicate  inti 
mation  on  the  part  of  the  historian  that  he  is  going 
back  to  the  town  in  which  Oliver  Twist  was  born ; 
the  reader  taking  it  for  granted  that  there  are  good 
and  substantial  reasons  for  making  the  journey,  or 
he  would  not  be  invited  to  proceed  upon  such  an  ex 
pedition. 

Mr.  Bumble  emerged  at  early  morning  from  the 
work-house  gate,  and  walked  with  portly  carriage 
and  commanding  steps  up  the  High  Street.  He  was 
in  the  full  bloom  and  pride  of  beadlehood ;  his  cocked 
hat  and  coat  were  dazzling  in  the  morning  sim ;  he 
clutched  his  cane  with  the  vigorous  tenacity  of 
health  and  power.  Mr.  Bumble  always  carried  his 
head  high ;  but  this  morning  it  was  higher  than 
usual.  There  was  an  abstraction  in  his  eye,  an  ele 
vation  in  his  air,  which  might  have  warned  an  ob 
servant  stranger  that  thoughts  were  passing  in  the 
beadle's  mind  too  great  for  utterance. 

Mr.  Bumble  stopped  not  to  converse  with  the 
small  shop-keepers  and  others  who  spoke  to  him 
deferentially,  as  he  passed  along.  He  merely  re 
turned  their  salutations  with  a  wave  of  his  hand, 
and  relaxed  not  in  his  dignified  pace  until  he  reach 
ed  the  farm  where  Mrs.  Mann  tended  the  infant  pau 
pers  with  parochial  care. 

"  Drat  that  beadle !"  said  Mrs.  Maun,  hearing  the 
well-known  shaking  at  the  garden-gate.  "  If  it  isn't 
him  at  this  time  in  the  morning !  Lauk,  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  only  think  of  its  being  you!  Well,  dear  me,  it 
is  a  pleasure,  this  is !  Come  into  the  parlor,  sir, 
please." 

The  first  sentence  was  addressed  to  Susan ;  and 
the  exclamations  of  delight  were  uttered  to  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  as  the  good  lady  unlocked  the  garden-gate,  and 
showed  him,  with  great  attention  and  respect,  into 
the  house. 

"  Mrs.  Maun,"  said  Mr.  Bumble — not  sitting  upon, 


56 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


or  dropping  himself  into  a  seat,  as  any  common  jack 
anapes  would,  but  letting  himself  gradually  and 
slowly  down  into  a  chair — "  Mrs.  Mann,  ma'am,  good- 
morning." 

"  Well,  and  good-morning  to  you,  sir,"  replied  Mrs. 
Mann,  with  many  smiles ;  "  and  hoping  you  find 
yourself  well,  sir." 

"  So-so,  Mrs.  Mann,"  replied  the  beadle.  "A  poro- 
chial  life  is  not  a  bed  of  roses,  Mrs.  Mann." 

"Ah,  that  it  isn't  indeed,  Mr.  Bumble,"  rejoined 
the  lady.  And  all  the  infant  paupers  might  have 
chorused  the  rejoinder  with  great  propriety,  if  they 
had  heard  it. 

"A  porochial  life,  ma'am,"  continued  Mr.  Bumble, 
striking  the  table  with  his  cane,  "  is  a  life  of  worrit, 
and  vexation,  and  hardihood ;  but  all  public  charac 
ters,  as  I  may  say,  must  suffer  prosecution." 

Mrs.  Mann,  not  very  well  knowing  what  the  beadle 
meant,  raised  her  hands  with  a  look  of  sympathy, 
and  sighed. 

"Ah!  You  may  well  sigh,  Mrs.  Mann!"  said  the 
beadle. 

Finding  she  had  done  right,  Mrs.  Mann  sighed 
again:  evidently  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  public 
character,  who,  repressing  a  complacent  smile  by 
looking  sternly  at  his  cocked  hat,  said, 

"  Mrs.  Mann,  I'm  a-going  to  London." 

"Lauk,  Mr.  Bumble!''  cried  Mrs.  Mann,  starting 
back. 

"  To  London,  ma'am,"  resumed  the  inflexible  bea 
dle,  "  by  coach.  I  and  two  paupers,  Mrs.  Mann !  A 
legal  action  is  a-coming  on  about  a  settlement ;  and 
the  board  has  appointed  me  —  me,  Mrs.  Mann  —  to 
depose  to  the  matter  before  the  Quarter-sessions  at 
Clerkinwell.  And  I  very  much  question,"  added  Mr. 
Bumble,  drawing  himself  up,  "'whether  the  Clerkin 
well  Sessions  will  not  find  themselves  in  the  wrong 
box  before  they  have  done  with  me." 

"  Oh !  you  mustn't  be  too  hard  upon  them,  sir," 
said  Mrs.  Mann,  coaxiugly. 

"The  Clerkinwell  Sessions  have  brought  it  upon 
themselves,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble ;  "  and  if  the 
Clerkinwell  Sessions  find  that  they  come  olf  rather 
worse  than  they  expected,  the  Clerkinwell  Sessions 
have  only  themselves  to  thank." 

There  was  so  much  determination  and  depth  of 
purpose  about  the  menacing  manner  in  which  Mr. 
Bumble  delivered  himself  of  these  words,  that  Mrs. 
Mann  appeared  quite  awed  by  them.  At  length  she 
said, 

"  You're  going  by  coach,  sir  ?  I  thought  it  was 
always  usual  to  send  them  paupers  in  carts." 

"  That's  when  they're  ill,  Mrs.  Mann."  said  the  bea 
dle.  "  We  put  the  sick  paupers  into  open  carts  in 
the  rainy  weather,  to  prevent  their  taking  cold." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs. Mann. 

"The  opposition  coach  contracts  for  these  two, 
and  takes  them  cheap,"  said  Mr.  Bumble.  "They 
are  both  in  a  very  low  state,  and  we  find  it  would 
come  two  pound  cheaper  to  move  'em  than  to  bury 
rem — that  is,  if  we  can  throw  'em  upon  another  par 
ish,  which  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  do,  if  they 
don't  die  upon  the  road  to  spite  us.  Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

When  Mr.  Bumble  had  laughed  a  little  while,  his 
eyes  again  encountered  the  cocked  hat,  and  he  be 
came  grave. 


"  We  are  forgetting  business,  ma'am,"  said  the  bea 
dle  ;  "  here  is  your  porochial  stipend  for  the  month." 

Mr.  Bumble  produced  some  silver  money  rolled  up 
in  a  paper  from  his  pocket-book,  and  requested  a  re 
ceipt  ;  which  Mrs.  Mann  wrote. 

"  It's  very  much  blotted,  sir,"  said  the  farmer  of 
infants ;  "  but  it's  formal  enough,  I  dare  say.  Thank 
you,  Mr.  Bumble,  sir,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you, 
I'm  sure." 

Mr.  Bumble  nodded  blandly,  in  acknowledgment 
of  Mrs.  Mann's  courtesy ;  and  inquired  how  the  chil 
dren  were. 

"  Bless  their  dear  little  hearts !"  said  Mrs.  Mann, 
with  emotion,  "  they're  as  well  as  can  be,  the  dears ! 
Of  course,  except  the  two  that  died  last  week.  And 
little  Dick." 

"  Isn't  that  boy  no  better  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Bumble. 

Mrs.  Mann  shook  her  head. 

"  He's  a  ill-conditioned,  wicious,  bad-disposed  po 
rochial  child  that,"  said  Mr.  Bumble  angrily.  "  Where 
is  he  ?" 

"  I'll  bring  him  to  you  in  one  minute,  sir,"  replied 
Mrs.  Mann.  "  Here,  you  Dick !" 

After  some  calling,  Dick  was  discovered.  Having 
had  his  face  put  under  the  pump,  and  dried  upon 
Mrs.  Mann's  gown,  he  was  led  into  the  awful  pres 
ence  of  Mr.  Bumble,  the  beadle. 

The  child  was  pale  and  thin ;  his  cheeks  were  sunk 
en  :  and  his  eyes  large  and  bright.  The  scanty  par 
ish  dress,  the  livery  of  his  misery,  hung  loosely  on  his 
feeble  body ;  and  his  young  limbs  had  wasted  away 
like  those  of  an  old  man. 

Such  was  the  little  being  who  stood  trembling  be 
neath  Mr.  Bumble's  glance ;  not  daring  to  lift  his 
eyes  from  the  floor ;  and  dreading  even  to  hear  the 
beadle's  voice. 

"  Can't  you  look  at  the  gentleman,  you  obstinate 
boy  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mann. 

The  child  meekly  raised  his  eyes,  and  encountered 
those  of  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  porochial  Dick  t" 
inquired  Mr.  Bumble,  with  well-timed  jocularity. 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  replied  the  child,  faintly. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  who  had,  of 
course,  laughed  very  much  at  Mr.  Bumble's  humor. 
"  You  want  for  nothing,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  should  like—"  faltered  the  child. 

"  Heyday !"  interposed  Mrs.  Mann, "  I  suppose  you're 
going  to  say  that  you  do  want  for  something,  now  ? 
Why,  you  little  wretch — " 

"Stop,  Mrs.  Mann,  stop!"  said  the  beadle,  raising 
his  hand  with  a  show  of  authority.  "Like  what,  sir, 
eh?" 

"  I  should  like,"  faltered  the  child,  "  if  somebody 
that  can  write  would  put  a  few  words  down  for  me 
on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  fold  it  up  and  seal  it,  and 
keep  it  for  me,  after  I  am  laid  in  the  ground." 

"  Why,  what  does  the  boy  mean  ?"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Bumble,  on  whom  the  earnest  manner  and  wan  as 
pect  of  the  child  had  made  some  impression,  accus 
tomed  as  he  was  to  such  things.  "What  do  you 
mean,  sir  ?" 

"  I  should  like,"  said  the  child,  "  to  leave  my  dear 
love  to  poor  Oliver  Twist ;  and  to  let  him  know  how 
often  I  have  sat  by  myself  and  cried  to  think  of  his 
wandering  about  in  the  dark  nights  with  nobody  to 


BUMBLE  AFTER   THE  GUINEAS. 


57 


help  him.  Aud  I  should  like  to  tell  him,"  said  the 
child,  pressing  his  small  hands  together,  and  speak 
ing  with  great  fervor,  "  that  I  was  glad  to  die  when 
I  was  very  young ;  for,  perhaps,  if  I  had  lived  to  be 
a  man,  and  had  grown  old,  my  little  sister,  who  is 
in  heaven,  might  forget  me,  or  be  unlike  me ;  and  it 
would  be  so  much  happier  if  we  were  both  children 
there  together." 

Mr.  Bumble  surveyed  the  little  speaker  from  head 
to  foot  with  indescribable  astonishment ;  and,  turn 
ing  to  his  companion,  said,  "  They're  all  in  one  story, 
Mrs.  Mann.  That  out-dacious  Oliver  has  demogal- 
ized  them  all !" 

"  I  couldn't  have  believed  it,  sir !"  said  Mrs.  Mann, 
holding  up  her  hands,  and  looking  malignantly  at 
Dick.  "  I  never  see  such  a  hardened  little  wretch!" 

"  Take  him  away,  ma'am !"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  impe 
riously.  "  This  must  be  stated  to  the  board,  Mrs. 
Maim." 

"  I  hope  the  gentlemen  will  understand  that  it  isn't 
my  fault,  sir  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mann,  whimpering  pathet 
ically. 

"  They  shall  understand  that,  ma'am ;  they  shall 
be  acquainted  with  the  true  state  of  the  case,"  said 
Mr.  Bumble.  "  There ;  take  him  away ;  I  can't  bear 
the  sight  on  him." 

Dick  was  immediately  taken  away  and  locked  up 
in  the  coal -cellar.  Mr.  Bumble  shortly  afterward 
took  himself  off,  to  prepare  for  his  journey. 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  Mr.  Bumble — having 
exchanged  his  cocked  hat  for  a  round  one,  and  in 
cased  his  person  in  a  blue  great-coat  with  a  cape  to 
it — took  his  place  on  the  outside  of  the  coach,  accom 
panied  by  the  criminals  whose  settlement  was  dis 
puted  ;  with  whom,  in  due  course  of  time,  he  arrived 
in  London.  He  experienced  no  other  crosses  on  the 
way  than  those  which  originated  in  the  perverse  be 
havior  of  the  two  paupers,  who  persisted  in  shiver 
ing  and  complaining  of  the  cold,  in  a  manner  which, 
Mr.  Bumble  declared,  caused  his  teeth  to  chatter  in 
his  head,  and  made  him  feel  quite  uncomfortable,  al- 
thougn  ne  had  a  great-coat  on. 

Having  disposed  of  these  evil-minded  persons  for 
the  night,  Mr.  Bumble  sat  himself  down  in  the  house 
at  which  the  coach  stopped ;  and  took  a  temperate 
dinner  of  steaks,  oyster-sauce,  and  porter.  Putting 
a  glass  of  hot  gin-and-water  on  the  chimney-piece, 
he  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire ;  and,  with  sundry  moral 
reflections  on  the  too-prevalent  sin  of  discontent  and 
complaining,  composed  himself  to  read  the  paper. 

The  very  first  paragraph  upon  which  Mr.  Bumble's 
eye  rested  was  the  following  advertisement : 

"FIVE  GUINEAS  REWARD. 

"  Whereas  a  young  boy,  named  Oliver  Twist,  absconded,  or 
was  enticed,  on  Thursday  evening  last,  from  his  home,  at  Pen- 
tonville,  and  has  not  since  been  heard  of.  The  above  reward 
will  be  paid  to  any  person  who  will  give  such  information  as 
will  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the  said  Oliver  Twist,  or  tend  to 
throw  any  light  upon  his  previous  history,  in  which  the  adver 
tiser  is,  for  many  reasons,  warmly  interested." 

And  then  followed  a  full  description  of  Oliver's 
dn-ss,  person,  appearance,  and  disappearance ;  with 
the  name  and  address  of  Mr.  Brownlow  at  full  length. 

Mr.  Bumble  opened  his  eyes ;  read  the  advertise 
ment,  slowly  and  carefully,  three  several  times ;  and 


in  something  more  than  five  minutes  was  on  his  way 
to  Pentouville ;  having  actually,  in  his  excitement, 
left  the  glass  of  hot  gin-and-water  nutasted. 

"  Is  Mr.  Brownlow  at  home  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Bumble 
of  the  girl  who  opened  the  door. 

To  this  inquiry*  the  girl  returned  the  not  uncom 
mon,  but  rather  evasive  reply  of,  "  I  don't  know ; 
where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

Mr.  Bumble  no  sooner  uttered  Oliver's  name,  in  ex 
planation  of  his  errand,  than  Mrs.  Bedwin,  who  had 
been  listening  at  the  parlor-door,  hastened  into  the 
passage  in  a  breathless  state. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  the  old  lady :  "  I  knew  we 
should  hear  of  him.  Poor  dear !  I  knew  we  should. 
I  was  certain  of  it.  Bless  his  heart !  I  said  so,  all 
along." 

Having  said  this,  the  worthy  old  lady  hurried  back 
into  the  parlor  again ;  and  seating  herself  on  a  sofa, 
burst  into  tears.  The  girl,  who  was  not  quite  so  sus 
ceptible,  had  run  up  stairs  meanwhile ;  and  now  re 
turned  with  a  request  that  Mr.  Bumble  would  follow 
her  immediately ;  which  he  did. 

He  was  shown  into  the  little  back  study,  where  sat 
Mr.  Brownlow  and  his  friend  Mr.  Grimwig,  with  de 
canters  and  glasses  before  them.  The  latter  gentle 
man  at  once  burst  into  the  exclamation : 

"A  beadle !    A  parish  beadle,  or  I'll  eat  my  head !" 

"Pray  don't  interrupt  just  now,"  said  Mr.  Brown- 
low.  "  Take  a  seat,  will  you  ?" 

Mr.  Bumble  sat  himself  down,  quite  confounded  by 
the  oddity  of  Mr.  Grimwig's  manner.  Mr.  Brownlow 
moved  the  lamp,  so  as  to  obtain  an  uninterrupted 
view  of  the  beadle's  countenance ;  and  said,  with  a 
little  impatience, 

"  Now,  sir,  you  come  in  consequence  of  having  seen 
the  advertisement  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 

"And  you  are  a  beadle,  are  you  not  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Grimwig. 

"  I  am  a  porochial  beadle,  gentlemen,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Bumble,  proudly. 

"  Of  course,"  observed  Mr.  Grimwig,  aside,  to  his 
friend.  " I  knew  he  was.  A  beadle  all  over!" 

Mr.  Brownlow  gently  shook  his  head  to  impose  si 
lence  on  his  friend,  and  resumed : 

"  Do  you  know  where  this  poor  boy  is  now  ?" 

"  No  more  than  nobody,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know  of  him  ?"  inquired  the 
old  gentleman.  "  Speak  out,  my  friend,  if  you  have 
any  thing  to  say.  What  do  you  know  of  him  f ' 

"  You  don't  happen  to  know  any  good  of  him,  do 
you  ?"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  caustically ;  after  an  atten 
tive  perusal  of  Mr.  Bumble's  features. 

Mr.  Bumble,  catching  at  the  inquiry  very  quickly, 
shook  his  head  with  portentous  solemnity. 

"  You  see  ?"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  looking  triumph 
antly  at  Mr.  Brownlow. 

Mr.  Brownlow  looked  apprehensively  at  Mr.  Bum 
ble's  pursed-up  countenance ;  and  requested  him  to 
communicate  what  he  knew  regarding  Oliver,  in  as 
few  words  as  possible. 

Mr.  Bumble  put  down  his  hat ;  unbuttoned  his 
coat ;  folded  his  arms ;  inclined  his  head  in  a  retro 
spective  manner ;  and  after  a  few  moments'  reflec 
tion,  commenced  his  story. 

It  would  be  tedious  if  given  in  the  beadle's  words, 


58 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


occupying,  as  it  did,  some  twenty  minutes  in  the  tell 
ing  ;  but  the  sum  and  substance  of  it  was,  That  Ol 
iver  was  a  foundling,  born  of  low  and  vicious  par 
ents.  That  he  had,  from  his  birth,  displayed  no 
better  qualities  than  treachery,  ingratitude,  and  mal 
ice.  That  he  had  terminated  his  brief  career  in  the 
place  of  his  birth,  by  making  a  sanguinary  and  cow 
ardly  attack  on  an  unoffending  lad,  and  running 
away  in  the  night-time  from  his  master's  house.  In 
proof  of  his  really  being  the  person  he  represented 
himself,  Mr.  Bumble  laid  upon  the  table  the  papers 
he  had  brought  to  town.  Folding  his  arms  again, 
he  then  awaited  Mr.  Brownlow's  observations. 

"  I  fear  it  is  all  too  true,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
sorrowfully,  after  looking  over  the  papers.     "  This  is 


"  It  can't  be,  sir.  It  can  not  be,"  said  the  old  lady, 
energetically. 

"I  tell  you  he  is,"  retorted  the  old  gentleman. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  can't  bef  We  have  just 
heard  a  full  account  of  him  from  his  birth;  and  he 
has  been  a  thorough-paced  little  villain  all  his  life." 

"  I  never  will  believe  it,  sir,"  replied  the  old  lady, 
firmly.  "  Never !" 

"  You  old  women  never  believe  any  thing  but 
quack  doctors  and  lying  story-books,"  growled  Mr. 
Grimwig.  "  I  knew  it  all  along.  Why  didn't  you 
take  my  advice  in  the  beginning ;  you  would,  if  he 
hadn't  had  a  fever,  I  suppose,  eh  ?  He  was  interest 
ing,  wasn't  he  ?  Interesting !  Bah !"  And  Mr.  Grim- 
wig  poked  the  fire  with  a  flourish. 


"A  BEADLE!    A  PABISU  BEADLE,  OE  I'LL  EAT  MY  HEAD." 


not  mucn  for  your  intelligence  ;  but  I  would  gladly 
have  given  you  treble  the  money,  if  it  had  been  fa 
vorable  to  the  boy." 

.  It  is  not  improbable  that  if  Mr.  Bumble  had  been 
possessed  of  this  information  at  an  earlier  period  of 
the  interview,  he  might  have  imparted  a  very  differ 
ent  coloring  to  his  little  history.  It  was  too  late  to 
do  it  now,  however ;  so  he  shook  his  head  gravely, 
and,  pocketing  the  five  guineas,  withdrew. 

Mr.  Brownlow  paced  the  room  to  and  fro  for  some 
minutes ;  evidently  so '  much  disturbed  by  the  bea 
dle's  tale,  that  even  Mr.  Grimwig  forbore  to  vex  him 
further. 

At  length  he  stopped,  and  rang  the  bell  violently. 

"  Mrs.  Bed  win,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  when  the  house 
keeper  appeared;  "that  boy,  Oliver,  is  an  impostor." 


"  He  was  a  dear,  grateful,  gentle  child,  sir,"  retort 
ed  Mrs.  Bedwiu,  indignantly.  "  I  know  what  chil 
dren  are,  sir,  and  have  done  these  forty  years ;  and 
people  who  can't  say  the  same,  shouldn't  say  auy 
thing  about  them.  That's  my  opinion !" 

This  was  a  hard  hit  at  Mr.  Grimwig,  Avho  was  a 
bachelor.  As  it  extorted  nothing  from  that  gentle 
man  but  a  smile,  the  old  lady  tossed  her  head,  and 
smoothed  down  her  apron  preparatory  to  another 
speech,  when  she  was  stopped  by  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  Silence !"  said  the  old  gentleman,  feigning  an 
anger  he  was  far  from  feeling.  "  Never  let  me  hear 
the  boy's  name  again.  I  rang  to  tell  you  that. 
Never.  Never,  on  any  pretense,  mind !  You  may 
leave  the  room,  Mrs.  Bedwiu.  Remember!  I  am  iu 
earnest." 


A   LONELY  PLACE   TO  LIFE 


59 


There  were  sad  hearts  at  Mr.  Brownlow's  that 
night. 

Oliver's  heart  sank  within  him,  when  he  thought 
of  his  good  kind  friends ;  it  was  well  for  him  that  he 
could  not  know  what  they  had  heard,  or  it  might 
have  broken  outright. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HOW    OLIVER   PASSED    HIS    TIME    IN    THE   IMPROVING   SO 
CIETY   OF   HIS   REPUTABLE   FRIENDS. 

ABOUT  noon  next  day,  when  the  Dodger  and 
Master  Bates  had  gone  out  to  pursue  their  cus 
tomary  avocations,  Mr.  Fagiu  took  the  opportunity 
of  reading  Oliver  a  long  lecture  on  the  crying  sin  of 
ingratitude :  of  which  he  clearly  demonstrated  he 
had  been  guilty,  to  no  ordinary  extent,  in  willfully 
absenting  himself  from  the  society  of  his  anxious 
friends;  and,  still  more,  in  endeavoring  to  escape 
from  them  after  so  much  trouble  and  expense  had 
been  incurred  in  his  recovery.  Mr.  Fagin  laid  great 
stress  on  the  fact  of  his  having  taken  Oliver  in,  and 
cherished  him,  when,  without  his  timely  aid,  he  might 
have  perished  with  hunger ;  and  he  related  the  dis 
mal  and  affecting  history  of  a  young  lad  whom,  in 
his  philanthropy,  he  had  succored  under  parallel  cir 
cumstances,  but  who,  proving  unworthy  of  his  confi 
dence  and  evincing  a  desire  to  communicate  with  the 
police,  had  unfortunately  come  to  be  hanged  at  the 
Old  Bailey  one  morning.  Mr.  Fagin  did  not  seek  to 
conceal  his  share  in  the  catastrophe,  but  lamented 
with  tears  in  his  eyes  that  the  wrong-headed  and 
treacherous  behavior  of  the  young  person  in  ques 
tion  had  rendered  it  necessary  that  he  should  become 
the  victim  of  certain  evidence  for  the  crown :  which, 
if  it  were  not  precisely  true,  was  indispensably  nec 
essary  for  the  safety  of  him  (Mr.  Fagin)  and  a  few 
select  friends.  Mr.  Fagin  concluded  by  drawing  a 
rather  disagreeable  picture  of  the  discomforts  of 
hanging ;  and,  with  great  friendliness  and  politeness 
of  manner,  expressed  his  anxious  hopes  that  he  might 
never  be  obliged  to  submit  Oliver  Twist  to  that  un 
pleasant  operation. 

Little  Oliver's  blood  ran  cold,  as  he  listened  to  the 
Jew's  words,  and  imperfectly  comprehended  the  dark 
threats  conveyed  in  them.  That  it  was  possible  even 
for  justice  itself  to  confound  the  innocent  with  the 
guilty  when  they  were  in  accidental  companionship, 
he  knew  already ;  and  that  deeply-laid  plans  for  the 
destruction  of  inconveniently  knowing  or  over-com 
municative  persons,  had  been  really  devised  and  car 
ried  out  by  the  old  Jew  on  more  occasions  than  one, 
he  thought  by  no  means  unlikely,  when  he  recol 
lected  the  general  nature  of  the  altercations  between 
that  gentleman  and  Mr.  Sikes,  which  seemed  to  bear 
reference  to  some  foregone  conspiracy  of  the  kind. 
As  he  glanced  timidly  up,  and  met  the  Jew's  search 
ing  look,  he  felt  that  his  pale  face  and  trembling 
limbs  were  neither  unnoticed  nor  unrelished  by  that 
wary  old  gentleman. 

The  Jew,  smiling  hideously,  patted  Oliver  on  the 
head,  and  said,  that  if  he  kept  himself  quiet,  and  ap 
plied  himself  to  business,  he  saw  they  would  be  very 
good  friends  yet.  Then,  taking  his  hat,  and  covering 


himself  with  an  old  patched  great-coat,  he  went  out, 
and  locked  the  room-door  behind  him. 

And  so  Oliver  remained  all  that  day,  and  for  the 
greater  part  of  many  subsequent  days,  seeing  no 
body  between  early  morning  and  midnight,  and  left 
during  the  long  hours  to  commune  with  his  own 
thoughts ;  which,  never  failing  to  revert  to  his  kind 
friends,  and  the  opinion  they  must  long  ago  have 
formed  of  him,  were  sad  indeed. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  week  or  so,  the  Jew  left  the 
room-door  unlocked ;  and  he  was  at  liberty  to  wan 
der  about  the  house. 

It  was  a  very  dirty  place.  The  rooms  up  stairs 
had  great  high  wooden  chimney-pieces  and  large 
doors,  with  paneled  walls  and  cornices  to  the  ceil 
ings  ;  which,  although  they  were  black  with  neglect 
and  dust,  were  ornamented  in  various  ways.  From 
all  of  these  tokens  Oliver  concluded  that  a  long  time 
ago,  before  the  old  Jew  was  born,  it  had  belonged  to 
better  people,  and  had  perhaps  been  quite  gay  and 
handsome :  dismal  and  dreary  as  it  looked  now. 

Spiders  had  built  their  webs  in  the  angles  of  the 
walls  and  ceilings;  and  sometimes,  when  Oliver 
walked  softly  into  a  room,  the  mice  would  scamper 
across  the  floor  and  run  back  terrified  to  their  holes. 
With  these  exceptions,  there  was  neither  sight  nor 
sound  of  any  living  thing ;  and  often,  when  it  grew 
dark,  and  he  was  tired  of  wandering  from  room  to 
room,  he  would  crouch  in  the  comer  of  the  passage 
by  the  street-door,  to  be  as  near  living  people  as  he 
could ;  and  would  remain  there,  listening  and  count 
ing  the  hours,  until  the  Jew  or  the  boys  returned. 

In  all  the  rooms  the  mouldering  shutters  were  fast 
closed :  the  bars  which  held  them  were  screwed  tight 
into  the  wood;  the  only  light  which  was  admitted 
stealing  its  Way  through  round  holes  at  the  top ; 
which  made  the  rooms  more  gloomy,  and  filled  them 
with  strange  shadows.  There  was  a  back-garret 
window  with  rusty  bars  outside,  which  had  no  shut 
ter  ;  and  out  of  this  Oliver  often  gazed  with  a  mel 
ancholy  face  for  hours  together ;  but  nothing  was  to 
be  descried  from  it  but  a  confused  and  crowded  mass 
of  house-tops,  blackened  chimneys,  and  gable-ends. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  a  grizzly  head  might  be  seen 
peering  over  the  parapet-wall  of  a  distant  house: 
but  it  was  quickly  withdrawn  again ;  and  as  the 
window  of  Oliver's  observatory  was  nailed  down, 
and  dimmed  with  the  rain  and  smoke  of  years,  it  was 
as  much  as  he  could  do  to  make  out  the  forms  of  the 
different  objects  beyond,  without  making  any  at 
tempt  to  be  seen  or  heWd — which  he  had  as  much 
chance  of  being,  as  if  he  had  lived  inside  the  ball  of 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 

One  afternoon,  the  Dodger  and  Master  Bates  being 
engaged  out  that  evening,  the  first -named  young 
gentleman  took  it  into  his  head  to  evince  some  anx 
iety  regarding  the  decoration  of  his  person  (to  do 
him  justice,  this  was  by  no  means  an  habitual  weak 
ness  with  him) ;  and,  with  this  end  and  aim,  he  con 
descendingly  commanded  Oliver  to  assist  him  in  his 
toilet  straightway. 

Oliver  was  but  too  glad  to  make  himself  useful — 
too  happy  to  have  some  faces,  however  bad,  to  look 
upon — too  desirous  to  "conciliate  those  about  him 
when  he  could  honestly  do  so — to  throw  any  objec 
tion  in  the  way  of  this  proposal.  So  he  at  once  ex- 


60 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


pressed  his  readiness;  and,  kneeling  on  the  floor, 
while  the  Dodger  sat  upon  the  table  so  that  he  could 
take  his  foot  in  his  lap,  he  applied  himself  to  a  proc 
ess  which  Mr.  Daw  kins  designated  as  "japanning 
his  trotter-cases."  The  phrase,  rendered  into  plain 
English,  siguifieth,  cleaning  his  boots. 

Whether  it  was  the  sense  of  freedom  and  inde 
pendence  which  a  rational  animal  may  be  supposed 
to  feel  when  he  sits  on  a  table  in  an  easy  attitude 
smoking  a  pipe,  swinging  one  leg  carelessly  to  and 
fro,  and  having  his  boots  cleaned  all  the  time,  with 
out  even  the  past  trouble  of  having  taken  them  off, 
or  the  prospective  misery  of  putting  them  on,  to  dis 
turb  his  reflections ;  or  whether  it  was  the  goodness 
of  the  tobacco  that  soothed  the  feelings  of  the  Dodg 
er,  or  the  mildness  of  the  beer  that  mollified  his 
thoughts  ;  he  was  evidently  tinctured,  for  the  nonce, 
with  a  spice  of  romance  and  enthusiasm,  foreign  to 
his  general  nature.  He  looked  down  on  Oliver,  with 
a  thoughtful  countenance,  for  a  brief  space;  and 
then,  raising  his  head,  and  heaving  a  gentle  sigh, 
said,  half  in  abstraction,  and  half  to  Master  Bates : 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  he  isn't  a  prig  !" 

"Ah!"  said  Master  Charles  Bates,  "he  don't  know 
what's  good  for  him." 

The  Dodger  sighed  again,  and  resumed  his  pipe, 
as  did  Charley  Bates.  They  both  smoked,  for  some 
seconds,  in  silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  even  know  what  a  prig  is  ?" 
said  the  Dodger,  mournfully. 

"  I  think  I  know  that,"  replied  Oliver,  looking  up. 
"  It's  a  th — ;  you're  one,  are  you  not  ?"  inquired  Oli 
ver,  checking  himself. 

"  I  am,"  replied  the  Dodger.  "  I'd  scorn  to  be 
any  thing  else."  Mr.  Dawkins  gave  his  hat  a  fero 
cious  cock,  after  delivering  this  sentiment,  and  look 
ed  at  Master  Bates,  as  if  to  denote  that  he  would 
feel  obliged  by  his  saying  any  thing  to  the  con 
trary. 

"  I  am,"  repeated  the  Dodger.  "  So's  Charley.  So's 
Fagin.  So's  Sikes.  So's  Nancy.  So's  Bet.  So  we 
all  are,  down  to  the  dog.  And  he's  the  downiest  one 
of  the  lot!" 

"And  the  least  given  to  peaching,"  added  Charley 
Bates. 

"  He  wouldn't  so  much  as  bark  in  a  witness-box, 
for  fear  of  committing  himself;  no,  not  if  you  tied 
him  up  in  one,  and  left  him  there  without  wittles 
for  a  fortnight,"  said  the  Dodger. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  observed  Charley. 

"He's  a  rum  dog.  Don't  he  look  fierce  at  any 
strange  cove  that  laughs  or  sings  when  he's  in  com 
pany  !"  pursued  the  Dodger.  "Won't  he  growl  at 
all,  when  he  hears  a  fiddle  playing !  And  don't  he 
hate  other  dogs  as  ain't  of  his  breed !  Oh,  no !" 

"  He's  an  out-and-out  Christian,"  said  Charley. 

This  was  merely  intended  as  a  tribute  to  the  ani 
mal's  abilities,  but  it  was  an  appropriate  remark  in 
another  sense,  if  Master  Bates  had  only  known  it ; 
for  there  are  a  good  many  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
claiming  to  be  out-and-out  Christians,  between 
whom  and  Mr.  Sikes's  dog  there  exist  strong  and 
singular  points  of  resemblance. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  Dodger,  recurring  to  the 
point  from  which  they  had  strayed ;  with  that  mind- 
fulness  of  his  profession  which  influenced  all  his  pro 


ceedings.  "This  hasn't  got  any  thing  to  do  with 
young  Green  here." 

" No  more  it  has,"  said  Charley.  "Why  don't  you 
put  yourself  under  Fagiu,  Oliver  ?" 

"And  make  your  fortim'  out  of  hand?"  added  the 
Dodger,  with  a  grin. 

"And  so  be  able  to  retire  on  your  property,  and  do 
the  gen-teel,  as  I  mean  to,  in  the  very  next  leap-year 
but  four  that  ever  comes,  and  the  forty-second  Tues 
day  in  Trinity-week,"  said  Charles  Bates. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  rejoined  Oliver,  timidly ;  "  I  wish 
they  would  let  me  go.  I — I — would  rather  go." 

"  And  Fagiu  would  rathw  not !"  rejoined  Charley. 

Oliver  knew  this  too  well ;  but  thinking  it  might 
be  dangerous  to  express  his  feelings  more  openly,  he 
only  sighed,  and  went  on  with  his  boot-cleaning. 

"  Go !"  exclaimed  the  Dodger.  "  Why,  where's 
your  spirit  ?  Don't  you  take  any  pride  out  of  your 
self?  Would  you  go  and  be  dependent  on  your 
friends  ?" 

"  Oh,  blow  that !"  said  Master  Bates,  drawing  two 
or  three  silk  handkerchiefs  from  his  pocket,  and 
tossing  them  into  a  cupboard,  "  that's  too  mean, 
that  is." 

"  /  couldn't  do  it,"  said  the  Dodger,  with  an  air  of 
haughty  disgust. 

"  You  can  leave  your  friends,  though,"  said  Oliver, 
with  a  half  smile ;  "  and  let  them  be  punished  for 
Avhat  you  did." 

"  That,"  rejoined  the  Dodger,  with  a  wave  of  his 
pipe — "  that  was  all  out  of  consideration  for  Fagiu, 
'cause  the  traps  know  that  we  work  together,  and  he 
might  have  got  into  trouble  if  we  hadn't  made  our 
lucky ;  that  was  the  move,  wasn't  it,  Charley  f 

Master  Bates  nodded  assent,  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  the  recollection  of  Oliver's  flight  came 
so  suddenly  upon  him,  that  the  smoke  he  was  inhal 
ing  got  entangled  with  a  laugh,  and  went  up  into 
his  head,  and  down  into  his  throat ;  and  brought  on 
a  fit  of  coughing  and  stamping,  about  five  minutes 
long. 

"  Look  here !"  said  the  Dodger,  drawing  forth  a 
handful  of  shillings  and  halfpence.  "  Here's  a  jolly 
life !  What's  the  odds  where  it  comes  from  I  Here, 
catch  hold;  there's  plenty  more  where  they  were 
took  from.  You  won't,  won't  you  ?  Oh,  you  pre 
cious  flat !" 

"  It's  naughty,  ain't  it,  Oliver  ?"  inquired  Charley 
Bates.  "  He'll  come  to  be  scragged,  won't  he  f ' 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  means,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Something  in  this  way,  old  feller,"  said  Charley. 
As  he  said  it,  Master  Bates  caught  up  an  end  of  his 
neckerchief,  and,  holding  it  erect  in  the  air,  dropped 
his  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  jerked  a  curious  sound 
through  his  teeth ;  thereby  indicating,  by  a  lively 
pantomimic  representation,  that  scragging  and  hang 
ing  were  one  and  the  same  thing. 

"  That's  what  it  means,"  said  Charley.  "  Look  how 
he  stares,  Jack!  I  never  did  see  such  prime  compa 
ny  as  that  'ere  boy ;  he'll  be  the  death  of  me,  I  know 
he  will."  Master  Charles  Bates,  having  laughed 
heartily  again,  resumed  his  pipe  with  tears  in  his 
eyes. 

"  You've  been  brought  up  bad,"  said  the  Dodger, 
surveying  his  boots  with  much  satisfaction  when  Ol 
iver  had  polished  them.  "  Fagin  will  make  some- 


IMPROVING  ADVICE. 


61 


thing  of  you,  though,  or  you'll  be  the  first  he  ever  ' 
had  that  turned  out  unprofitable.     You'd  better  be 
gin  at  once ;  for  you'll  come  to  the  trade  long  before 
you  think  of  it ;  and  you're  only  losing  time,  Oliver.'' 

Master  Bates  backed  this  advice  with  sundry  mor 
al  admonitions  of  his  own:  which,  being  exhausted, 
he  and  his  friend  Mr.  Dawkins  launched  into  a  glow 
ing  description  of  the  numerous  pleasures  incidental 
to  the  life  they  led,  interspersed  with  a  variety  of 
hints  to  Oliver  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do 
would  be  to  secure  Fagin's  favor  without  more  de 
lay,  by  the  means  which  they  themselves  had  em 
ployed  to  gain  it. 

"And  always  put  this  in  your  pipe,  Nolly,"  said  the 
Dodger,  as  the  Jew  was  heard  unlocking  the  door 
above,  "  if  you  don't  take  fogies  and  tickers — : 

"  What's  the  good  of  talking  in  that  way  ?"  inter 
posed  Master  Bates:  "  he  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  If  you  don't  take  pocket  -  handkechers  and 
watches,"  said  the  Dodger,  reducing  his  conversation 
to  the  level  of  Oliver's  capacity,  "some  other  cove 
will ;  so  that  the  coves  that  lose  'em  will  be  all  the 
worse,  and  you'll  be  all  the  worse  too,  and  nobody 
half  a  ha'p'orth  the  better,  except  the  chaps  wot 
gets  them — and  you've  just  as  good  a  right  to  them 
as  they  have." 

"  To  be  sura,  to  be  sure !"  said  the  Jew,  who  had 
entered,  unseen  by  Oliver.  "  It  all  lies  in  a  nutshell, 
my  dear — in  a  nutshell,  take  the  Dodger's  word  for 
it.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  He  understands  the  catechism  of 
his  trade." 

The  old  man  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully  together, 
as  he  corroborated  the  Dodger's  reasoning  in  these 
terms ;  and  chuckled  with  delight  at  his  pupil's  pro- 
ticiency. 

The  conversation  proceeded  no  further  at  this  time, 
for  the  Jew  had  returned  home  accompanied  by  Miss 
Betsy,  and  a  gentleman  whom  Oliver  had  never  seen 
before,  but  who  was  accosted  by  the  Dodger  as  Tom 
Chitling;  and  who  having  lingered  on  the  stairs  to 
exchange  a  few  gallantries  with  the  lady,  now  made 
his  appearance. 

Mr.  Chitling  was  older  in  years  than  the  Dodger ; 
having  perhaps  numbered  eighteen  winters;  but 
there  was  a  degree  of  deference  in  his  deportment 
toward  that  young  gentleman  which  seemed  to  in 
dicate  that  he  felt  himself  conscious  of  a  slight  in 
feriority  in  point  of  genius  and  professional  acquire 
ments.  He  had  small  twinkling  eyes,  and  a  pock 
marked  face;  wore  a  fur  cap,  a  dark  corduroy  jacket, 
greasy  fustian  trowsers,  and  an  apron.  His  ward 
robe  was,  in  truth,  rather  out  of  repair ;  but  he  ex 
cused  himself  to  the  company  by  stating  that  his 
"  time  "  was  only  out  an  hour  before ;  and  that,  in 
consequence  of  having  worn  the  regimentals  for  six 
weeks  past,  he  had  not  been  able  to  bestow  any  at 
tention  on  his  private  clothes.  Mr.  Chitling  added, 
with  strong  marks  of  irritation,  that  the  new  way  of 
fumigating  clothes  up  yonder  was  infernal  unconsti 
tutional,  for  it  burned  holes  in  them,  and  there  was 
no  remedy  against  the  county.  The  same  remark  he 
considered  to  apply  to  the  regulation  mode  of  cut 
ting  the  hair,  which  he  held  to  be  decidedly  unlaw 
ful.  Mr.  Chitling  wound  up  his  observations  by  stat 
ing  that  he  had  not  touched  a  drop  of  any  thing  for 
forty-two  mortal  long  hard-working  days ;  and  that 


he  "  wished  he  might  be  busted  if  he  warn't  as  dry 
as  a  lime-basket." 

"Where  do  you  think  the  gentleman  has  come 
from,  Oliver  f"  inquired  the  Jew,  with  a  grin,  as  the 
other  boys  put  a  bottle  of  spirits  on  the  table. 

"  I — I — don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Who's  that  ?"  inquired  Tom  Chitliug,  casting  a 
contemptuous  look  at  Oliver. 

"A  young  friend  of  mine,  my  dear,"  replied  the 
Jew. 

"  He's  in  luck,  then,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
meaning  look  at  Fagin.  "  Never  mind  where  I  came 
from,  young  'un ;  you'll  find  your  way  there  soon 
enough,  I'll  bet  a  crown !" 

At  this  sally  the  boys  laughed.  After  some  more 
jokes  on  the  same  subject,  they  exchanged  a  few 
short  whispers  with  Fagiu,  and  withdrew. 

After  some  words  apart  between  the  last  comer 
and  Fagin,  they  drew  their  chairs  toward  the  fire ; 
and  the  Jew,  telling  Oliver  to  come  and  sit  by  him, 
led  the  conversation  to  the  topics  most  calculated  to 
interest  his  hearers.  These  were,  the  great  advan 
tages  of  the  trade,  the  proficiency  of  the  Dodger,  the 
amiability  of  Charley  Bates,  and  the  liberality  of  the 
Jew  himself.  At  length  these  subjects  displayed 
signs  of  being  thoroughly  exhausted ;  and  Mr.  Chit- 
ling  did  the  same ;  for  the  house  of  correction  be 
comes  fatiguing  after  a  week  or  two.  Miss  Betsy 
accordingly  withdrew ;  and  left  the  party  to  their 
repose. 

From  this  day,  Oliver  was  seldom  left  alone ;  but 
was  placed  in  almost  constant  communication  with 
the  two  boys,  who  played  the  old  game  with  the 
Jew  every  day ;  whether  for  their  own  improvement 
or  Oliver's,  Mr.  Fagin  best  knew.  At  other  times  the 
old  man  would  tell  them  stories  of  robberies  ho  had 
committed  in  his  younger  days ;  mixed  up  with  so 
much  that  was  droll  and  curious,  that  Oliver  could 
not  help  laughing  heartily,  and  showing  that  he  was 
amused,  in  spite  of  all  his  better  feelings. 

In  short,  the  wily  old  Jew  had  the  boy  in  his  toils. 
Having  prepared  his  mind,  by  solitude  and  gloom,  to 
prefer  any  society  to  the  companionship  of  his  own 
sad  thoughts  in  such  a  dreary  place,  he  was  now 
slowly  instilling  into  his  soul  the  poison  which  he 
hoped  would  blacken  it,  and  change  its  hue  forever. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN  WHICH  A   NOTABLE   PLAN*  IS    DISCUSSED    AND    DETER 
MINED   ON. 

IT  was  a  chill,  damp,  windy  night,  when  the  Jew, 
buttoning  his  great-coat  tight  rdund  his  shriveled 
body,  and  pulling  the  collar  up  over  his  ears  so  as 
completely  to  obscnre  the  lower  part  of  his  face, 
emerged  from  his  den.  He  paused  on  the  step  as 
the  door  was  locked  and  chained  behind  him ;  and 
having  listened  while  the  boys  made  all  secure,  and 
until  their  retreating  footsteps  were  no  longer  audi 
ble,  slunk  down  the  street  as  quickly  as  he  could. 

The  house  to  which  Oliver  had  been  conveyed 
was  in  the  neighborhood  of  Whitechapel.  The  Jew 
stopped  for  an  instant  at  the  corner  of  the  street; 


62 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


and,  glancing  suspiciously  round,  crossed  the  road, 
and  strnck  off  in  the  direction  of  Spitalfields. 

The  mnd  lay  thick  .upon  the  stones,  and  a  black 
mist  hung  over  the  streets ;  the  rain  fell  sluggishly 
down,  and  every  thing  felt  cold  and  clammy  to  the 
touch.  It  seemed  just  the  night  when  it  befitted 
such  a  being  as  the  Jew  to  be  abroad.  As  he  glided 
stealthily  along,  creeping  beneath  the  shelter  of  the 
walls  and  door-ways,  the  hideous  old  man  seemed 
like  some  loathsome  reptile,  engendered  in  the  slime 
and  darkness  through  which  he  moved;  crawling 
forth,  by  night,  in  search  of  some  rich  offal  for  a 
meal. 

He  kept  on  his  course,  through  many  winding  and 
narrow  ways,  until  he  reached  Bethnal  Green ;  then, 
turning  suddenly  off  to  the  left,  he  soon  became  in 
volved  in  a  maze  of  the  mean  and  dirty  streets  Avhich 
abound  in  that  close  and  densely-populated  quarter. 

The  Jew  was  evidently  too  familiar  with  the 
ground  he  traversed  to  be  at  all  bewildered,  either 
by  the  darkness  of  the  night,  or  the  intricacies  of 
the  way.  He  hurried  through  several  alleys  and 
streets,  and  at  length  turned  into  one,  lighted  only 
by  a  single  lamp  at  the  farther  end.  At  the  door 
of  a  house  in  this  street  he  knocked;  having  ex 
changed  a  few  muttered  words  with  the  person  who 
opened  it,  he  walked  up  stairs. 

A  dog  growled  as  he  touched  the  handle  of  a  room- 
door  ;  and  a  man's  voice  demanded  who  was  there. 

"  Only  me,  Bill ;  only  me,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew, 
looking  in. 

"Bring  in  your  body,  then,"  said  Sikes.  "Lie 
down,  you  stupid  brute !  Don't  you  know  the  devil 
when  he's  got  a  great-coat  on  ?" 

Apparently,  the  dog  had  been  somewhat  deceived 
by  Mr.  Fagin's  outer  garment ;  for  as  the  Jew  unbut 
toned  it,  and  threw  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  he 
retired  to  the  corner  from  which  he  had  risen ;  wag 
ging  his  tail  as  he  went,  to  show  that  he  was  as  well 
satisfied  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  be. 

"Well!" said  Sikes. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew. — "Ah!    Nancy." 

The  latter  recognition  was  uttered  with  just  enough 
of  embarrassment  to  imply  a  doubt  of  its  reception ; 
for  Mr.  Fagin  and  his  young  friend  had  not  met  since 
she  had  interfered  in  behalf  of  Oliver.  All  doubts 
upon  the  subject,  if  he  had  any,  were  speedily  re 
moved  by  the  young  lady's  behavior.  She  took  her 
feet  off  the  fender,  pushed  back  her  chair,  and  bade 
Fagin  draw  up  his,  without  saying  more  about  it : 
for  it  was  a  cold  night,  and  no  mistake. 

"  It  is  cold,  Nancy  dear,"  said  the  Jew,  as  he  warm 
ed  his  skinny  hands  over  the  fire.  "  It  seems  to  go 
ri^-ht  through  one,"  aided  the  old  man,  touching  his 
side. 

"  It  must  be  a  piercer,  if  it  finds  its  way  through 
your  heart,"  said  Mr.  Sikes.  "  Give  him  something 
to  drink,  Nancy.  Burn  my  body,  make  haste !  It's 
enough  to  turn  a  man  ill,  to  see  his  lean  old  carcass 
shivering  in  that  way,  like  a  ugly  ghost  just  rose 
from  the  grave." 

Nancy  quickly  brought  a  bottle  from  a  cupboard, 
in  which  there  were  many :  which,  to  judge  from  the 
diversity  of  their  appearance,  were  filled  with  several 
kinds  of  liquids.  Sikes,  pouring  out  a  glass  of  bran 
dy,  bade  the  Jew  drink  it  off. 


"  Quite  enough,  quite,  thankye,  Bill,"  replied  the 
Jew,  putting  down  the  glass  after  just  setting  his 
lips  to  it. 

"  What !  You're  afraid  of  our  getting  the  better 
of  you,  are  you  f"  inquired  Sikes,  fixing  his  eyes  on 
the  Jew.  "  Ugh !" 

With  a  hoarse  grunt  of  contempt,  Mr.  Sikes  seized 
the  glass,  and  threw  the  remainder  of  its  contents 
into  the  ashes,  as  a  preparatory  ceremony  to  filling 
it  again  for  himself,  which  he  did  at  once. 

The  Jew  glanced  round  the  room  as  his  compan 
ion  tossed  down  the  second  glassful ;  not  in  curiosity, 
for  he  had  seen  it  often  before ;  but  in  a  restless  and 
suspicious  manner  habitual  to  him.  It  was  a  meanly 
furnished  apartment,  with  nothing  but  the  contents 
of  the  closet  to  induce  the  belief  that  its  occupier 
was  any  thing  but  a  working-man;  and  with  no 
more  suspicious  articles  displayed  to  view  than  two 
or  three  heavy  bludgeons  which  stood  in  a  corner, 
and  a  "  life-preserver  "  that  himg  over  the  chimney- 
piece. 

"  There,"  said  Sikes,  smacking  his  lips.  "  Now  I'm 
ready." 

"  For  business  ?"  inquired  the  Jew. 

"  For  business,"  replied  Sikes ;  "  so  say  what  you've 
got  to  say." 

"About  the  crib  at  Chertsey,  Bill?"  said  the  Jew, 
drawing  his  chair  forward,  and  speaking  in  a  very 
low  voice. 

"  Yes.     Wot  about  it  ?"  inquired  Sikes. 

"Ah!  you  know  what  I  mean,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Jew.  "  He  knows  what  I  mean,  Nancy ;  don't  he  ?" 

"No,  he  don't,"  sneered  Mr.  Sikes.  "  Or  he  won't, 
and  that's  the  same  thing.  Speak  out,  and  call  things 
by  their  right  names ;  don't  sit  there  winking  and 
blinking,  and  talking  to  me  in  hints,  as  if  you  warn't 
the  very  first  that  thought  about  the  robbery.  Wot 
d'ye  mean?" 

"  Hush,  Bill,  hush !"  said  the  Jew,  who  had  in  vain 
attempted  to  stop  this  burst  of  indignation ;  "  some 
body  will  hear  us,  my  dear — somebody  will  hear  us.'; 

"  Let  'eui  hear !"  said  Sikes ;  "  I  don't  care."  But 
as  Mr.  Sikes  did  care,  on  reflection,  he  dropped  his 
voice  as  he  said  the  words,  and  grew  calmer. 

"  There,  there,"  said  the  Jew,  coaxingly.  "  It  was 
only  my  caution,  nothing  more.  Now,  my  dear, 
about  that  crib  at  Chertsey ;  when  is  it  to  be  done, 
Bill,  eh  ?  When  is  it  to  be  done  ?  Such  plate,  my 
dear,  such  plate !"  said  the  Jew ;  nibbing  his  hands, 
and  elevating  his  eyebrows  in  a  rapture  of  antici 
pation. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Sikes,  coldly. 

"  Not  to  be  done  at  all !"  echoed  the  Jew,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair. 

"  No,  not  at  all,"  rejoined  Sikes.  "At  least  it  can't 
be  a  put-up  job,  as  we  expected." 

"  Then  it  hasn't  been  properly  gone  about,"  said 
the  Jew,  turning  pale  with  anger.  "  Don't  tell  me !" 

"But  I  will  tell  you,"  retorted  Sikes.  "Who  are 
you  that's  not  to  be  told?  I  tell  yoti  that  Toby 
Crackit  has  been  hanging  about  the  place  for  a  fort 
night,  and  he  can't  get  one  of  the  servants  into  a 
line." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Bill,"  said  the  Jew,  soft 
ening  as  the  other  grew  heated,  "  that  neither  of  the 
two  men  in  the  house  can  be  got  over  ?" 


BUSINESS  AFOOT. 


63 


"Yes,  I  do  mean  to  tell  you  so/'  replied  Sikes. 
"  The  old  lady  has  had  'em  these  twenty  year ;  and 
if  you  were  to  give  'em  five  hundred  pound,  they 
wouldn't  be  in  it." 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say,  my  dear,"  remonstrated 
the  Jew,  "  that  the  \vomeu  can't  be  got  over  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Sikes. 

"  Not  by  flash  Toby  Crackit  ?"  said  the  Jew,  in 
credulously.  "  Think  what  women  are,  Bill." 

"No;  not  even  by  flash  Toby  Crackit,"  replied 
Sikes.  "He  says  he's  worn  sham  whiskers,  and  a 
canary  waistcoat,  the  whole  blessed  time  he's  been 
loitering  down  there,  and  it's  all  of  no  use." 

"He  should  have  tried  mustaches  and  a  pair  of 
military  trowsers,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew. 

"  So  he  did,"  rejoined  Sikes,  "  and  they  waru't  of 
no  more  use  than  the  other  plant." 

The  Jew  looked  blank  at  this  information.  After 
ruminating  for  some  minutes  with  his  chin  sunk  on 
his  breast,  he  raised  his  head  and  said,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  that  if  flash  Toby  Crackit  reported  aright,  he 
feared  the  game  was  up. 

"And  yet,"  said  the  old  man,  dropping  his  hands 
on  his  knees,  "  it's  a  sad  thing,  my  dear,  to  lose  so 
much  when  we  had  set  our  hearts  upon  it." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Sikes.     "  Worse  luck !" 

A  long  silence  ensued  ;  during  which  the  Jew  was 
plunged  in  deep  thought,  with  his  face  wrinkled 
into  an  expression  of  villainy  perfectly  demoniacal. 
Sikes  eyed  him  furtively  from  time  to  time.  Nancy, 
apparently  fearful  of  irritating  the  house-breaker,  sat 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fire,  as  if  she  had  been 
deaf  to  all  that  passed. 

"  Fagin,"  said  Sikes,  abruptly  breaking  the  still 
ness  that  prevailed ;  "  is  it  worth  fifty  shiners  extra, 
if  it's  safely  done  from  the  outside  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Jew,  as  suddenly  rousing  himself. 

"  Is  it  a  bargain  ?"  inquired  Sikes. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  yes,"  rejoined  the  Jew;  his  eyes 
glistening,  and  every  muscle  in  his  face  working 
with  the  excitement  that  the  inquiry  had  awakened. 

"Then,"  said  Sikes,  thrusting  aside  the  Jew's 
hand,  with  some  disdain,  "  let  it  come  off  as  soon  as 
you  like.  Toby  and  me  \vere  over  the  garden- wall 
the  night  afore  last,  sounding  the  panels  of  the  door 
and  shutters.  The  crib's  barred  up  at  night  like  a 
jail ;  but  there's  one  part  we  can  crack  safe  and 
softly." 

"Which  is  that,  Bill  ?"  asked  the  Jew,  eagerly. 

"  Why,"  whispered  Sikes, "  as  you  cross  the  lawn — " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Jew,  bending  his  head  forward, 
with  his  eyes  almost  starting  out  of  it. 

"  Umph !"  cried  Sikes,  stopping  short,  as  the  girl, 
scarcely  moving  her  head,  looked  suddenly  round, 
and  pointed  for  an  instant  to  the  Jew's  face.  "  Nev 
er  mind  which  part  it  is.  You  can't  do  it  without 
me,  I  know ;  but  it's  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side  when 
one  deals  with  you." 

"As  you  like,  my  dear,  as  yon  like,"  replied  the 
Jew.  "Is  there  no  help  wanted  but  yours  and 
Toby's  r 

"None,"  said  Sikes.  "'Cept  a  centre -bit  and  a 
boy.  The  first  we've  both  got ;  the  second  you  must 
find  us." 

"A  boy!"  exclaimed  the  Jew.  "Oh!  then  it's  a 
panel,  eh  ?"  • 


"  Never  mind  wot  it  is !"  replied  Sikes.  "  I  want 
a  boy,  and  he  musu't  be  a  big  un.  Lord !"  said  Mr. 
Sikes,  reflectively,  "  if  I'd  only  got  that  young  boy 
of  Ned,  the  chimbley-sweeper's !  He  kept"  him  small 
on  purpose,  and  let  him  out  by  the  job.  But  the  fa 
ther  gets  lagged ;  and  then  the  Juvenile  Delinquent 
Society  comes  and  takes  the  boy  away  from  a  trade 
where  he  was  arniug  money,  teaches  him  to  read  and 
write,  and  in  time  makes  a  'prentice  of  him.  And  so 
they  go  on,"  said  Mr.  Sikes,  his  wrath  rising  with  the 
recollection  of  his  wrongs,  "  so  they  go  on ;  and,  if 
they'd  got  money  enough  (which  it's  a  Providence 
they  haven't),  wo  shouldn't  have  half  a  dozen  boys 
left  in  the  whole  trade,  in  a  year  or  two." 

"No  more  we  should,"  acquiesced  the  Jew,  who 
had  been  considering  during  this  speech,  and  had 
only  caiight  the  last  sentence.  "Bill!" 

"What  now  ?"  inquired  Sikes. 

The  Jew  nodded  his  head  toward  Nancy,  who  was 
still  gazing  at  the  lire ;  and  intimated  by  a  sign  that 
he  would  have  told  her  to  leave  the  room.  Sikes 
shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently,  as  if  he  thought 
the  precaution  unnecessary ;  but  complied,  neverthe 
less,  by  requesting  Miss  Nancy  to  fetch  him  a  jug  of 
beer. 

"  You  don't  want  any  beer,"  said  Nancy,  folding 
her  arms,  and  retaining  her  seat  very  composedly. 

"  I  tell  you  I  do,"  replied  Sikes. 

"  Nonsense !"  rejoined  the  girl,  coolly.  "  Go  on,  Fa- 
gin.  I  know  what  he's  going  to  say,  Bill ;  he  needn't 
mind  me." 

The  Jew  still  hesitated.  Sikes  looked  from  one  to 
the  other  in  some  surprise. 

"Why,  you  don't  mind  the  old  girl,  do  you,  Fa- 
gin  '?"  he  asked  at  length.  "  You've  known  her  long 
enough  to  trust  her,  or  the  Devil's  in  it.  She  ain't 
one  to  blab.  Are  you,  Nancy  ?" 

"/should  think  not!''  replied  the  young  lady: 
drawing  her  chair  up  to  the  table,  and  putting  her 
elbows  upon  it. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear,  I  know  you're  not,"  said  the 
Jew ;  "  but — "  and  again  the  old  man  paused. 

"  But  wot  ?"  inquired  Sikes. 

"  I  didn't  know  whether  she  mightn't  pYaps  be 
out  of  sorts,  you  know,  my  dear,  as  she  was  the  other 
night,"  replied  the  Jew. 

At  this  confession  Miss  Nancy  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh ;  and,  swallowing  a  glass  of  brandy,  shook  her 
head  with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  burst  into  sundry 
exclamations  of  "  Keep  the  game  a-going !"  "  Never 
say  die !"  and  the  like.  These  seemed  to  have  the 
effect  of  reassuring  both  gentlemen ;  for  the  Jew 
nodded  his  head  with  a  satisfied  air,  and  resumed  his 
seat :  as  did  Mr.  Sikes  likewise. 

"  Now,  Fagin,"  said  Nancy,  with  a  laugh,  "  tell  Bill 
at  once  about  Oliver !" 

"  Ha !  you're  a  clever  one,  my  dear ;  the  sharpest 
girl  I  ever  saw !"  said  the  Jew,  patting  her  on  the 
neck.  "  It  was  about  Oliver  I  was  going  to  speak, 
sure  enough.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"What  about  him?"  demanded  Sikes- 

"He's  the  boy  for  you,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew, 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  laying  his  finger  on  the  side  of 
his  nose,  and  grinning  frightfully. 

"  He !"  exclaimed  Sikes. 

"  Have  him,  Bill !"  said  Nancy.    "  I  would,  if  I  was 


64 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


in  your  place.  He  mayn't  be  so  much  up  as  any  of 
the  others ;  but  that's  not  what  you  want,  if  he's  only 
to  open  a  door  for  you.  Depend  upon  it  he's  a  safe 
one,  Bill." 

"I  know  he  is,"  rejoined  Fagin.  "He's  been  in 
good  training  these  last  few  weeks,  and  it's  time  he 
began  to  Avork  for  his  bread.  Besides,  the  others  are 
all  too  big." 

"  Well,  he  is  just  the  size  I  want,"  said  Mr.  Sikes, 
ruminating. 

"And  will  do  every  thing  you  want,  Bill,  my  dear," 
interposed  the  Jew ;  "  he  can't  help  himself.  That 
is,  if  you  frighten  him  enough." 

"  Frighten  him !"  echoed  Sikes.     "  It'll  be  no  sham 


"  Ours !"  said  Sikes.     "  Yours,  you  mean." 

"  Perhaps  I  do,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew  with  a  shrill 
chuckle.  "  Mine,  if  you  like,  Bill." 

"And  wot,"  said  Sikes,  scowling  fiercely  on  his 
agreeable  friend,  "wot  makes  you  take  so  much 
pains  about  one  chalk -faced  kid,  when  you  know 
there  are  fifty  boys  snoozing  about  Common  Garden 
every  night,  as  you  might  pick  and  choose  from  ?" 

"  Because  they're  of  no  use  to  me,  my  dear,"  re 
plied  the  Jew,  with  some  confusion,  "  not  worth  the 
taking.  Their  looks  convict  'em  when  they  get  into 
trouble,  and  I  lose  'em  all.  With  this  boy,  properly 
managed,  my  dears,  I  could  do  what  I  couldn't  with 
twenty  of  them.  Besides,"  said  the  Jew,  recovering 


'lIIE  BOY   WAS  LYING,  FAST  ASLEEP,  ON  A  RUDE  BED   UPON  TUB  FLOOR. 


frightening,  mind  you.  If  there's  any  thing  queer 
about  him  when  we  once  get  into  the  work ;  in  for 
a  penny,  in  for  a  pound.  You  won't  see  him  alive 
again,  Fagin.  Think  of  that  before  you  send  him. 
Mark  my  words !"  said  the  robber,  poising  a  crow 
bar,  which  he  had  drawn  from  under  the  bedstead. 

"  I've  thought  of  it  all,"  said  the  Jew,  with  energy. 
"  I've — I've  had  my  eye  upon  him,  my  dears,  close — 
close.  Once-  let  him  feel  that  he  is  one  of  us — once 
fill  his  mind  with  the  idea  that  he  has  been  a  thief — 
and  he's  ours !  Ours  for  his  life.  Oho !  It  couldn't 
have  come  about  better !"  The  old  man  crossed  his 
arms  upon  his  breast,  and,  drawing  his  head  and  shoul 
ders  into  a  heap,  literally  hugged  himself  for  joy. 


his  self-possession,  "  he  has  us  now  if  he  could  only 
give  us  leg-bail  again ;  and  he  must  be  in  the  same 
boat  with  us.  Never  mind  how  he  came  there ;  it's 
quite  enough  for  my  power  over  him  that  he  was  in 
a  robbery ;  that's  all  I  want.  Now,  how  much  bet 
ter  this  is  than  being  obliged  to  put  the  poor  leetle 
boy  out  of  the  way — which  would  be  dangerous,  and 
we  should  lose  by  it  besides." 

"  When  is  it  to  be  done  ?"  asked  Nancy,  stopping 
some  turbulent  exclamation  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Sikes, 
expressive  of  the  disgust  with  which  he  received  Fa- 
gin's  affectation  of  humanity. 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Jew;  "when  is  it  to  be 
done,  Bill  T" 


THE    VERT  EOT  FOR   THE  PURPOSE. 


65 


"  I  planned  with  Toby,  the  night  arter  to-morrow," 
rejoined  Sikes  in  a  surly  voice,  "  if  he  heerd  nothing 
from  me  to  the  contrairy." 

"  Good,"  said  the  Jew ;  "  there's  no  moon." 

"No," rejoined  Sikes. 

"  It's  all  arranged  about  bringing  off  the  swag,  is 
it  ?"  asked  the  Jew. 

Sikes  nodded. 

"And  about—" 

"  Oh,  ah,  it's  all  planned,"  rejoined  Sikes,  inter 
rupting  him.  "  Never  mind  particulars.  You'd  bet 
ter  bring  the  boy  here  to-morrow  night.  I  shall  get 
off  the  stones  an  hour  arter  daybreak.  Then  you 
hold  your  tongue,  and  keep  the  melting-pot  ready, 
and  that's  all  you'll  have  to  do." 

After  some  discussion,  in  which  all  three  took  an 
active  part,  it  was  decided  that  Nancy  should  repair 
to  the  Jew's  next  evening  when  the  night  had  set 
in,  and  bring  Oliver  away  with  her;  Fagin  craftily 
observing  that,  if  he  evinced  any  disinclination  to 
the  task,  he  would  be  more  willing  to  accompany 
the  girl  who  had  so  recently  interfered  in  his  behalf, 
than  any  body  else.  It  was  also  solemnly  arranged 
that  poor  Oliver  should,  for  the  purposes  of  the  con 
templated  expedition,  be  unreservedly  consigned  to 
the  care  and  custody  of  Mr.  William  Sikes ;  and  fur 
ther,  that  the  said  Sikes  should  deal  with  him  as  he 
thought  fit ;  and  should  not  be  held  responsible  by 
the  Jew  for  any  mischance  or  evil  that  might  befall 
him,  or  any  punishment  writh  which  it  might  be  nec 
essary  to  visit  him :  it  being  understood  that,  to  ren 
der  the  compact  in  this  respect  binding,  any  repre 
sentations  made  by  Mr.  Sikes  on  his  return  should 
be  required  to  be  confirmed  and  corroborated,  in  all 
important  particulars,  by  the  testimony  of  flash  Toby 
Crackit. 

These  preliminaries  adjusted,  Mr.  Sikes  proceeded 
to  drink  brandy  at  a  furious  rate,  and  to  flourish  the 
crowbar  in  an  alarming  manner ;  yelling  forth,  at 
the  same  time,  most  unmusical  snatches  of  song,  min 
gled  with  wild  execrations.  At  length,  in  a  fit  of 
professional  enthusiasm,  he  insisted  upon  producing 
his  box  of  house-breaking  tools :  which  he  had  no 
sooner  stumbled  in  with,  and  opened  for  the  purpose 
of  explaining  the  nature  and  properties  of  the  vari 
ous  implements  it  contained,  and  the  peculiar  beau 
ties  of  their  construction,  than  he  fell  over  the  box 
upon  the  floor,  and  went  to  sleep  where  he  fell. 

"  Good-night,  Nancy,"  said  the  Jew,  muffling  him 
self  up  as  before. 

"  Good-night." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  the  Jew  scrutinized  her  nar 
rowly.  There  was  no  flinching  about  the  girl.  She 
was  as  true  and  earnest  in  the  matter  as  Toby  Crack- 
it  himself  could  be. 

The  Jew  again  bade  her  good-night,  and,  bestow 
ing  a  sly  kick  upon  the  prostrate  form  of  Mr.  Sikes 
while  her  back  was  turned,  groped  down  stairs. 

"Always  the  way,"  muttered  the  Jew  to  himself 
as  he  turned  homeward.  "  The  worst  of  these  wom 
en  is,  that  a  very  little  thing  serves  to  call  up  some 
long-forgotten  feeling ;  and  the  best  of  them  is,  that 
it  nev«-r  lasts.  Ha!  ha!  The  man  against  the  child, 
for  a  bag  of  gold !" 

Beguiling  the  time  with  these  pleasant  reflections, 
Mr.  Fagin  wended  his  way,  through  mud  and  mire, 
E 


to  his  gloomy  abode :  where  the  Dodger  was  sitting 
up,  impatiently  awaiting  his  return. 

"  Is  Oliver  abed  ?  I  want  to  speak  to  him,"  was 
his  first  remark  as  they  descended  the  stairs. 

"  Hours  ago,"  replied  the  Dodger,  throwing  open  a 
door.  "  Here  he  is." 

The  boy  was  lying,  fast  asleep,  on  a  rude  bed  upon 
the  floor ;  so  pale  with  anxiety,  and  sadness,  and  the 
closeness  of  his  prison,  that  he  looked  like  death ; 
not  death  as  it  shows  iu  shroud  and  coffin,  but  in  the 
guise  it  wears  when  life  has  just  departed ;  when  a 
young  and  gentle  spirit  has,  but  an  instant,  fled  to 
Heaven,  and  the  gross  air  of  the  world  has  not  had 
time  to  breathe  upon  the  changing  dust  it  hallowed. 

"Not  now,"  said  the  Jew,  turning  softly  away. 
"  To-morrow.  To-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WHEREIN   OLIVER   IS    DELIVERED    OVER  TO    MR.  WILLIAM 
SIKES. 

WHEN  Oliver  awoke  in  the  morning,  he  was  a 
good  deal  surprised  to  find  that  a  new  pair  of 
shoes,  with  strong  thick  soles,  had  been  placed  at  his 
bedside,  and  that  his  old  shoes  had  been  removed. 
At  first  he  was  pleased  with  the  discovery,  hoping 
it  might  be  the  forerunner  of  his  release ;  but  such 
thoughts  were  quickly  dispelled,  on  his  sitting  down 
to  breakfast  along  with  the  Jew,  who  told  him,  in  a 
tone  and  manner  which  increased  his  alarm,  that  he 
was  to  be  taken  to  the  residence  of  Bill  Sikes  that 
night. 

"To — to — stop  there,  sir?"  asked  Oliver,  anxiously. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear.  Not  to  stop  there,"  replied  the 
Jew.  "We  shouldn't  like  to  lose  you.  Don't  be 
afraid,  Oliver,  you  shall  come  back  to  us  again.  Ha ! 
ha !  ha !  We  won't  be  so  cruel  as  to  send  you  away, 
my  dear.  Oh  no,  no !" 

The  old  man,  who  was  stooping  over  the  fire  toast 
ing  a  piece  of  bread,  looked  round  as  he  bantered 
Oliver  thus;  and  chuckled  as  if  to  show  that  he 
knew  he  would  still  be  very  glad  to  get  away  if  he 
could. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  Jew,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Oli 
ver,  "  you  want  to  know  what  you're  going  to  Bill's 
for — eh,  my  dear  ?" 

Oliver  colored,  involuntarily,  to  find  that  the  old 
thief  had  been  reading  his  thoughts;  but  boldly 
said,  Yes,  he  did  want  to  know. 

"  Why,  do  you  think  ?'?  inquired  Fagin,  parrying 
the  question. 

"  Indeed  I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  Bah !"  said  the  Jew,  turning  away  v.-ith  a  disap 
pointed  countenance  from  a  close  perusal  of  the  boy's 
face.  "  Wait  till  Bill  tells  you,  then." 

The  Jew  seemed  much  vexed  by  Oliver's  not  ex 
pressing  any  greater  curiosity  on  the  subject ;  but 
the  truth  is,  that  although  Oliver  felt  very  anxious, 
he  was  too  much  confused  by  the  earnest  cunning 
of  Fagin's  looks,  and  his  own  speculations,  to  make 
any  further  inquiries  just  then.  He  had  no  other 
opportunity,  for  the  Jew  remained  very  surly  aud  .si 
lent  till  night ;  when  he  prepared  to  go  abroad. 

"  You  may  bum  a  candle,"  said  the  Jew,  putting 


66 


OLIVES   TWIST. 


one  upon  the  table.  "And  here's  a  book  for  you  to 
read,  till  they  come  to  fetch  you.  Good-night !" 

"  Good-night !"  replied  Oliver,  softly. 

The  Jew  walked  to  the  door,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  boy  as  he  went.  Suddenly  stopping, 
he  called  him  by  his  name. 

Oliver  looked  up ;  the  Jew,  pointing  to  the  candle, 
motioned  him  to  light  it.  He  did  so ;  and,  as  he 
placed  the  candlestick  upon  the  table,  saw  that  the 
Jew  was  gazing  fixedly  at  him,  with  lowering  and 
contracted  brows,  from,  the  dark  end  of  the  room. 

"Take  heed,  Oliver!  take  heed!"  said  the  old  man, 
shaking  his  right  hand  before  him  in  a  warning 
manner.  "He's  a  rough  man,  and  thinks  nothing 
of  blood  when  his  own  is  up.  Whatever  falls  out, 
say  nothing;  and  do  what  he  bids  you.  Mind!'' 
Placing  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  he  suf 
fered  his  features  gradually  to  resolve  themselves 
into  a  ghastly  grin,  and,  nodding  his  head,  left  the 
room. 

Oliver  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand  when  the 
old  man  disappeared,  and  pondered,  with  a  trembling 
heart,  on  the  words  he  had  just  heard.  The  more 
he  thought  of  the  Jew's  admonition,  the  more  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  divine  its  real  purpose  and  meaning.  He 
could  think  of  no  bad  object  to  be  attained  by  send 
ing  him  to  Sikes  which  would  not  be  equally  well 
answered  by  his  •  remaining  with  Fagin ;  and  after 
meditating  for  a  long  time,  concluded  that  he  had 
been  selected  to  perform  some  ordinary  menial  of 
fices  for  the  house-breaker,  until  another  boy,  better 
suited  for  his  purpose,  could  be  engaged.  He  was 
too  well  accustomed  to  suffering,  and  had  suffered 
too  much  where  he  was,  to  bewail  the  prospect  of 
change  very  severely.  He  remained  lost  in  thought 
for  some  minutes ;  and  then,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  snuff 
ed  the  candle,  and,  taking  up  the  book  which  the  Jew 
had  left  with  him,  began  to  read. 

He  turned  over  the  leaves.  Carelessly  at  first; 
but  lighting  on  a  passage  which  attracted  his  atten 
tion,  he  soon  became  intent  upon  the  volume.  It 
was  a  history  of  the  lives  and  trials  of  great  crimi 
nals,  and  the  pages  were  soiled  and  thumbed  with 
use.  Here  he  read  of  dreadful  crimes  that  made  the 
blood  run  cold;  of  secret  murders  that  had  been 
committed  by  the  lonely  wayside ;  of  bodies  hidden 
from  the  eye  of  man  in  deep  pits  and  wells,  which 
would  not  keep  them  down,  deep  as  they  were,  but 
had  yielded  them  up  at  last  after  many  years,  and 
so  maddened  the  murderers  with  the  sight,  that  in 
their  horror  they  had  confessed  their  guilt,  and  yell 
ed  for  the  gibbet  to  end  their  agony.  Here,  too,  he 
read  of  men  Avho,  lying  in  their  beds  at  dead  of  night, 
had  been  tempted  (so  they  said)  and  led  on,  by  their 
own  bad  thoughts,  to  such  dreadful  bloodshed  as  it 
made  the  flesh  creep  and  the  limbs  quail  to  think 
of.  The  terrible  descriptions  were  so  real  and  vivid, 
that  the  sallow  pages  seemed  to  turn  red  with  gore, 
and  the  words  upon  them  to  be  sounded  in  his  ears 
as  if  they  were  whispered,  in  hollow  murmurs,  by  the 
spirits  of  the  dead. 

In  a  paroxysm  of  fear,  the  boy  closed  the  book 
and  thrust  it  from  him.  Then,  falling  upon  his 
knees,  he  prayed  Heaven  to  spare  him  from  such 
deeds ;  and  rather  to  will  that  he  should  die  at  once, 
than  be  reserved  for  crimes  so  fearful  and  appalling. 


By  degrees  he  grew  more  calm,  and  besought,  in  a 
low  and  broken  voice,  that  he  might  be  rescued  from 
his  present  dangers ;  and  that  if  any  aid  were  to  be 
raised  up  for  a  poor  outcast  boy  who  had  never 
known  the  love  of  friends  or  kindred,  it  might  come 
to  him  now,  when,  desolate  and  deserted,  he  stood 
alone  in  the  midst  of  wickedness  and  guilt. 

He  had  concluded  his  prayer,  but  still  remained 
with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands,  when  a  rustling 
noise  aroused  him. 

"  What's  that !"  he  cried,  starting  up,  and  catch 
ing  sight  of  a  figure  standing  by  the  door.  "  Who's 
there  ?" 

"  Me.     Only  me,"  replied  a  tremulous  voice. 

Oliver  raised  the  candle  above  his  head,  and  look 
ed  toward  the  door.  It  was  Nancy. 

"  Put  down  the  light,"  said  the  girl,  turning  away 
her  head.  "  It  hurts  my  eyes." 

Oliver  saw  that  she  was  very  pale,  and  gently  in 
quired  if  she  were  ill.  The  girl  threw  herself  into 
a  chair  with  her  back  toward  him,  and  wrung  her 
hands,  but  made  no  reply. 

"God  forgive  me!"  she  cried,  after  a  while,  "I 
never  thought  of  this." 

"  Has  any  thing  happened  ?"  asked  Oliver.  "  Can 
I  help  you  ?  I  will  if  I  can.  I  will,  indeed." 

She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  caught  her  throat, 
and,  uttering  a  gurgling  sound,  gasped  for  breath. 

"  Nancy !"  cried  Oliver,  "  what  is  it  ?" 

The  girl  beat  her  hands  upon  her  knees,  and  her 
feet  upon  the  ground;  and,  suddenly  stopping,  drew 
her  shawl  close  round  her,  and  shivered  with  cold. 

Oliver  stirred  the  fire.  Drawing  her  chair  close 
to  it,  she  sat  there  for  a  little  time,  without  speak 
ing  ;  but  at  length  she  raised  her  head,  and  looked 
round. 

"I  don't  know  what  comes  over  me  sometimes," 
said  she,  affecting  to  busy  herself  in  arranging  her 
dress ;  "  it's  this  damp,  dirty  room,  I  think.  Now, 
Nolly,  dear,  are  you  ready  ?" 

"Am  I  to  go  with  you?"  asked  Oliver. 

"Yes,  I  have  come  from  Bill,"  replied  the  girl. 
"  You  are  to  go  with  me." 

"  What  for  ?"  asked  Oliver,  recoiling. 

"What  for  f"  echoed  the  girl,  raking  her  eyes,  and 
averting  them  again  the  moment  they  encountered 
the  boy's  face.  "  Oh !  -  For  no  harm." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Oliver,  who  had  watched 
her  closely. 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,"  rejoined  the  girl,  affect 
ing  to  laugh.  "  For  no  good,  then." 

Oliver  could  see  that  he  had  some  power  over  the 
girl's  better  feelings,  and,  for  an  instant,  thought  of 
appealing  to  her  compassion  for  his  helpless  state. 
But  then  the  thought  darted  across  his  mind  that  it 
was  barely  eleven  o'clock,  and  that  many  people 
were  still  in  the  streets,  of  whom  surely  some  might 
be  found  to  give  credence  to  his  tale.  As  the  reflec 
tion  occurred  to  him,  he  stepped  forward,  and  said, 
somewhat  hastily,  that  lie  was  ready. 

Neither  his  brief  consideration  nor  its  purport  was 
lost  on  his  companion.  She  eyed  him  narrowly 
while  he  spoke,  and  cast  upon  him  a  look  of  intelli 
gence  which  sufficiently  showed  that  she  guessed 
what  had  been  passing  in  his  thoughts. 

"Hush!"   said  the  girl,  stooping  over  him,  and 


MB.  SIKES  READS  OLIVER  A  LECTURE. 


67 


pointing  to  the  door  as  she  looked  cautiously  round. 
"  You  can't  help  yourself.  I  have  tried  hard  for 
you,  but  all  to  110  purpose.  You  are  hedged  round 
and  round.  If  ever  you  are  to  get  loose  from  here, 
this  is  not  the  time." 

Struck  by  the  energy  of  her  manner,  Oliver  looked 
up  in  her  face  with  great  surprise.  She  seemed  to 
speak  the  truth ;  her  countenance  was  white  and  ag 
itated,  and  she  trembled  with  very  earnestness. 

"  I  have  saved  you  from  being  ill-used  once,  and  I 
will  again,  and  I  do  now,"  continued  the  girl,  aloud; 
"  for  those  who  would  have  fetched  you,  if  I  had  not, 
would  have  been  far  more  rough  than  me.  I  have 
promised  for  your  being  quiet  and  silent ;  if  you  are 
not,  you  will  only  do  harm  to  yourself  and  me  too, 
and  perhaps  be  my  death.  See  here !  I  have  borne  all 
this  for  you  already,  as  true  as  God  sees  me  show  it." 

She  pointed  hastily  to  some  livid  bruises  on  her 
neck  and  arms,  and  continued,  with  great  rapidity : 

"  Remember  this !  And  don't  let  me  suffer  more 
for  you.  just  now.  If  I  could  help  you,  I  would ;  but 
I  have  not  the  power.  They  don't  mean  to  harm 
you ;  whatever  they  make  you  do  is  no  fault  of 
yours.  Hush !  Every  word  from  you  is  a  blow  for 
me.  Give  me  your  hand.  Make  haste!  Your 
hand!" 

She  caught  the  hand  which  Oliver  instinctively 
placed  in  hers,  and,  blowing  out  the  light,  drew  him 
after  her  up  the  stairs.  The  door  was  opened  quick 
ly  by  some  one  shrouded  in  the  darkness,  and  was  as 
quickly  closed  when  they  had  passed  out.  A  hack 
ney-cabriolet  was  in  waiting;  with  the  same  vehe 
mence  which  she  had  exhibited  in  addressing  Oli 
ver,  the  girl  pulled  him  in  with  her,  and  drew  the  cur 
tains  close.  The  driver  wanted  no  directions,  but 
lashed  his  horse  into  full  speed  without  the  delay  of 
an  instant. 

The  girl  still  held  Oliver  fast  by  the  hand,  and 
continued  to  pour  into  his  ear  the  warnings  and  as 
surances  she  had  already  imparted.  All  was  so 
quick  and  hurried,  that  he  had  scarcely  time  to  rec 
ollect  where  he  was,  or  how  he  came  there,  when  the 
carriage  stopped  at  the  house  to  which  the  Jew's 
steps  had  been  directed  on  the  previous  evening. 

For  one  brief  moment,  Oliver  cast  a  hurried  glance 
along  the  empty  street,  and  a  cry  for  help  hung  upon 
his  lips.  But  the  girl's  voice  was  in  his  ear,  beseech 
ing  him,  in  such  tones  of  agony  to  remember  her, 
that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  utter  it.  While  he  hes 
itated  the  opportunity  was  gone ;  he  was  already  in 
the  house,  and  the  door  was  shut. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  girl,  releasing  her  hold  for 
the  first  time.  "Bill!" 

"  Halloo !"  replied  Sikes,  appearing  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  with  a  candle.  "  Oh !  That's  the  time  of 
day !  Come  on !" 

This  was  a  very  strong  expression  of  approbation, 
an  uncommonly  hearty  welcome,  from  a  person  of 
Mr.  Sikes's  temperament.  Nancy,  appearing  much 
gratified  thereby,  saluted  him  cordially. 

"Bull's-eye's  gone  home  with  Tom,"  observed 
Sikes,  as  he  lighted  them  up.  "  He'd  have  been  in 
the  w.'iy." 

"  That's  right,"  rejoined  Nancy. 

"  So  you've  got  the  kid,"  said  Sikes,  when  they  had 
all  reached  the  room,  closing  the  door  as  he  spoke. 


"  Yes,  here  he  is,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  Did  he  come  quiet  ?"  inquired  Sikes. 

"  Like  a  lamb,"  rejoined  Nancy. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Sikes,  looking  grimly  at 
Oliver ;  "  for  the  sake  of  his  young  carcass :  as  would 
otherways  have  suffered  for  it.  Come  here,  young 
'un ;  and  let  me  read  you  a  lectur',  which  is  as  well 
got  over  at  once." 

Thus  addressing  his  new  pupil,  Mr.  Sikes  pulled 
off  Oliver's  cap  and  threw  it  into  a  corner ;  and  then, 
taking  him  by  the  shoulder,  sat  himself  down  by  the 
table,  and  stood  the  boy  in  front  of  him. 

"  Now,  first :  do  you  know  wot  this  is  ?"  inquired 
Sikes,  taking  up  a  pocket-pistol  which  lay  on  the 
table. 

Oliver  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"Well,  then,  look  here,"  continued  Sikes.  "This 
is  powder;  that  'ere's  a  bullet;  and  this  is  a  little 
bit  of  a  old  hat  for  waddin'." 

Oliver  murmured  his  comprehension  of  the  differ 
ent  bodies  referred  to ;  and  Mr.  Sikes  proceeded  to 
load  the  pistol,  with  great  nicety  and  deliberation. 

"  Now  it's  loaded,"  said  Mr.  Sikes,  when  he  had 
finished. 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  is,  sir,"  replied  Oh' ver. 

"Well,"  said  the  robber,  grasping  Oliver's  wrist, 
and  putting  the  barrel  so  close  to  his  temple  that 
they  touched ;  at  which  moment  the  boy  could  not 
repress  a  start ;  "  if  you  speak  a  word  when  you're 
out  o'  doors  with  me,  except  when  I  speak  to  you, 
that  loading  will  be  in  your  head  without  notice. 
So,  if  you  do  make  up  your  mind  to  speak  without 
leave,  say  your  prayers  first." 

Having  bestowed  a  scowl  upon  the  object  of  this 
warning,  to  increase  its  effect,  Mr.  Sikes  continued. 

"As  near  as  I  know,  there  isn't  any  body  as  would 
be  asking  very  partickler  arter  you,  if  you  was  dis 
posed  of;  so  I  needn't  take  this  devil-and-all  of 
trouble  to  explain  matters  to  you,  if  it  warn't  for 
your  own  good.  D'ye  hear  me  ?" 

"  The  short  and  the  long  of  what  you  mean,"  said 
Nancy — speaking  very  emphatically,  and  slightly 
frowning  at  Oliver^ as  if  to  bespeak  his  serious  atten 
tion  to  her  words — "  is,  that  if  you're  crossed  by  him 
in  this  job  you  have  on  hand,  you'll  prevent  his  ever 
telling  tales  afterward  by  shooting  him  through  the 
head,  and  will  take  your  chance  of  swinging  for  it,, 
as  you  do  for  a  great  many  other  things  in  the  way 
of  business,  every  month  of  your  life." 

"  That's  it !"  observed  Mr.  Sikes,  approvingly ; 
"women  can  always  put  things  in  fewest  words. — 
Except  when  it's  blowing  up,  and  then  they  length 
ens  it  out.  And  now  that  he's  thoroughly  up  to  it, 
let's  have  some  supper,  and  get  a  snooze  before  start 
ing." 

In  pursuance  of  this  request,  Nancy  quickly  laid 
the  cloth ;  disappearing  for  a  few  minutes,  she  pres 
ently  returned  with  a  pot  of  porter  and  a  dish  of 
sheep's  heads ;  which  gave  occasion  to  several  pleas 
ant  witticisms  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Sikes,  founded  upon 
the  singular  coincidence  of  "jemmies  "  being  a  cant 
name  common  to  them,  and  also  to  an  ingenious  im 
plement  much  used  in  his  profession.  Indeed,  the 
worthy  gentleman,  stimulated  perhaps  by  the  imme 
diate  prospect  of  being  on  active  service,  was  in  great 
spirits  an<r  good-humor ;  in  proof  whereof,  it  may  be 


(58 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


here  remarked,  that  he  humorously  drank  all  the 
beer  at  a  draught,  and  did  not  utter,  on  a  rough 
calculation,  more  than  four-score  oaths  during  the 
whole  progress  of  the  meal. 

Supper  being  ended — it  may  easily  be  conceived 
that  Oliver  had  no  great  appetite  for  it — Mr.  Sikes 
disposed  of  a  couple  of  glasses  of  spirits-and-water, 
and  threw  himself  on' the  bed ;  ordering  Nancy,  with 
many  imprecations  in  case  of  failure,  to  call  him 
at  five  precisely.  Oliver  stretched  himself  in  his 
clothes,  by  command  of  the  same  authority,  on  a 
mattress  upon  the  floor ;  and  the  girl,  mending  the 
fire,  sat  before  it,  in  readiness  to  arouse  them  at  the 
appointed  time. 

For  a  long  time  Oliver  lay  awake,  thinking  it  not 
impossible  that  Nancy  might  seek  that  opportunity 
of  whispering  some  further  advice ;  but  the  girl  sat 
brooding  over  the  fire,  without  moving,  save  now 
and  then  to  trim  the  light.  Weary  with  watching 
and  anxiety,  he  at  length  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke,  the  table  was  covered  with  tea- 
things,  and  Sikes  was  thrusting  various  articles  into 
the  pockets  of  his  great-coat,  which  hung  over  the 
back  of  a  chair.  Nancy  was  busily  engaged  in  pre 
paring  breakfast.  It  was  not  yet  daylight ;  for  the 
candle  was  still  burning,  and  it  was  quite  dark  out 
side.  A  sharp  rain,  too,  was  beating  against  the  win 
dow-panes  ;  and  the  sky  looked  black  and  cloudy. 

"  Now,  then !"  growled  Sikes,  as  Oliver  started  up ; 
"  half-past  five !  Look  sharp,  or  you'll  get  no  break 
fast  ;  for  it's  late  as  it  is." 

Oliver  was  not  long  in  making  his  toilet ;  having 
taken  some  breakfast,  he  replied  to  a  surly  inquiry 
from  Sikes,  by  saying  that  he  was  quite  ready. 

Nancy  scarcely  looking  at  the  boy,  threw  him  a 
handkerchief  to  tie  round  his  throat ;  Sikes  gave 
him  a  large  rough  cape  to  button  over  his  shoulders. 
Thus  attired,  he  gave  his  hand  to  the  robber,  who, 
merely  pausing  to  show  him  with  a  menacing  ges 
ture  that  he  had  that  same  pistol  in  a  side-pocket  of 
his  great-coat,  clasped  it  firmly  in  his,  and,  exchang 
ing  a  farewell  with  Nancy,  led  him  away. 

Oliver  turned,  for  an  instant,  ^fhen  they  reached 
the  door,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  a  look  from  the  girl. 
But  she  had  resumed  her  old  seat  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  sat  perfectly  motionless  before  it. 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

THE    EXPEDITION. 

IT  was  a  cheerless  morning  when  they  got  into  the 
street ;  blowing  and  raining  hard,  and  the  clouds 
looking  dull  and  stormy.  The  night  had  been  very 
wet:  large  pools  of  water  had  collected  in  the  road, 
and  the  kennels  'were  overflowing.  There  was  a 
faint  glimmering  of  the  coming  day  in  the  sky  ;  but 
it  rather  aggravated  than  relieved  the  gloom  of  the 
scene :  the  sombre  light  only  serving  to  pale  that 
which  the  street  lamps  afforded,  without  shedding 
any  warmer  or  brighter  tints  upon  the  wet  house-tops 
and  dreary  streets.  There  appeared  to  be  nobody 
stirring  in  that  quarter  of  the  town ;  the  windows 
of  the  houses  were  all  closely  shut ;  and  ^hc  streets 
through  v.'hich  they  passed  were  noiseless  and  empty. 


By  the  time  they  had  turned  into  the  Bethnal 
Green  Road,  the  day  had  fairly  begun  to  break. 
Many  of  the  lamps  were  already  extinguished ;  a 
few  country  wagons  were  slowly  toiling  on  toward 
London ;  now  and  then  a  stage-coach,  covered  with 
mud,  rattled  briskly  by :  the  driver  bestowing,  as  he 
passed,  an  admonitory  lash  upon  the  heavy  wagoner 
who,  by  keeping  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  had 
endangered  his  arriving  at  the  office  a  quarter  of  a 
minute  after  his  time.  The  public-houses,  with  gas 
lights  burning  inside,  were  already  open.  By  de 
grees,  other  shops  began  to  be  unclosed,  and  a  few 
scattered  people  were  met  with.  Then  came  strag 
gling  groups  of  laborers  going  to  their  work :  then, 
men  and  women  with  fish-baskets  on  their  heads; 
donkey-carts  laden  with  vegetables  ;  chaise-carts  till 
ed  with  live-stock  or  whole  carcasses  of  meat ;  inilk- 
woiiien  with  pails ;  an  unbroken  concourse  of  people, 
trudging  out  with  various  supplies  to  the  eastern 
suburbs  of  the  town.  As  they  approached  the  City, 
the  noise  and  traffic  gradually  increased ;  when  they 
threaded  the  streets  between  Shoreditch  and  Smith- 
field,  it  had  swelled  into  a  roar  of  sound  and  bustle. 
It  was  as  light  as  it  was  likely  to  be  till  night  came 
on  again,  and  the  busy  morning  of  half  the  London 
population  had  begun. 

Turning  down  Sun  Street  and  Crown  Street,  and 
crossing  Finsbury  Square,  Mr.  Sikes  struck,  by  way 
of  Chiswell  Street,  into  Barbican ;  thence  into  Long 
Lane,  and  so  into  Smithfield;  from  which  latter 
place  arose  a  tumult  of  discordant  sounds  that  filled 
Oliver  Twist  with  amazement. 

It  was  market-morning.  The  ground  was  cover 
ed,  nearly  ankle-deep,  with  filth  and  mire ;  a  thick 
steam,  perpetually  rising  from  the  reeking  bodies  of 
the  cattle,  and  mingling  with  the  fog,  which  seemed 
to  rest  upon  the  chimney-tops,  hung  heavily  above. 
All  the  pens  in  the  centre  of  the  large  area,  and  as 
many  temporary  pens  as  could  be  crowded  into  the 
vacant  space,  were  filled  with  sheep ;  tied  up  to  posts 
by  the  gutter  side  were  long  lines  of  beasts  and  oxen, 
three  or  four  deep.  Countrymen,  butchers,  drovers, 
hawkers,  boys,  thieves,  idlers,  and  vagabonds  of  every 
low  grade,  were  mingled  together  in  a  mass ;  the 
whistling  of  drovers,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the  bel 
lowing  and  plunging  of  oxen,  the  bleating  of  sheep, 
the  grunting  and  squeaking  of  pigs,  the  cries  of 
hawkers,  the  shouts,  oaths,  and  quarreling  on  all 
sides ;  the  ringing  of  bells  and  roar  of  voices,  that 
issued  from  every  public-house ;  the  crowding,  push 
ing,  driving,  beating,  whooping,  and  yelling ;  the  hid 
eous  and  discordant  din  that  resounded  from  every 
corner  of  the  market ;  and  the  unwashed,  unshaven, 
squalid,  and  dirty  figures  constantly  running  to  and 
fro,  and  bursting  in  and  out  of  the  throng,  rendered 
it  a  stunning  and  bewildering  scene,  which  quite 
confounded  the  senses. 

Mr.  Sikes,  dragging  Oliver  after  him,  elbowed  his 
way  through  the  thickest  of  the  crowd,  and  bestow 
ed  very  little  attention  on  the  numerous  sights  and 
sounds  which  so  astonished  the  boy.  He  nodded, 
twice  or  thrice,  to  a  passing  friend  ;  and,  resisting  as 
many  invitations  to  take  a  morning  dram,  pressed 
steadily  onward,  \\n\i\  they  were  clear  of  the,  turmoil, 
i  and  had  made  their  way  through  Hosier  Lane  into 
Holburn. 


ON  THE  ROAD  OUT  OF  TOJTX. 


"  Now,  young  un !"  said  Sikes,  looking  up  at  the 
clock  of  St.  Andrew's  Church,. "hard  upon  seven! 
you  must  step  out.  Come,  don't  lag  behind  already, 
Lazy-legs !'' 

Mr.  Sikes  accompanied  this  speech  with  a  jerk  at 
his  little  companion's  wrist.  Oliver,  quickening  his 
pace  into  a  kind  of  trot,  between  a  fast  walk  and  a 
run,  kept  up  with  the  rapid  strides  of  the  house 
breaker  as  well  as  he  could. 

They  held  their  course  at  this  rate,  until  they  had 
passed  Hyde  Park  corner,  and  were  on  their  way  to 
Kensington ;  when  Sikes  relaxed  his  pace,  until  an 
empty  cart,  which  was  at  some  little  distance  behind, 
came  up.  Seeing  "  Hounslow  "  written  on  it,  he  ask 
ed  the  driver  with  as  much  civility  as  he  could  as 
sume,  if  he  would  give  them  a  lift  as  far  as  Isleworth. 

"  Jump  up,"  said  the  man.     "  Is  that  your  boy  V' 

"  Yes ;  he's  my  boy,"  replied  Sikes,  loohing  hard  at 
Oliver,  and  putting  his  hand  abstractedly  into  the 
pocket  where  the  pistol  was. 

"  Your  father  walks  rather  too  quick  for  you,  don't 
he,  my  man  F  inquired  the  driver ;  seeing  that  Oliver 
was  out  of  breath. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Sikes,  interposing.  "  He's 
used  to  it.  Here,  take  hold  of  my  hand,  Ned.  In  with 
you!" 

Thus  -addressing  Oliver,  he  helped  him  into  the 
cart ;  and  the  driver,  pointing  to  a  heap  of  sacks, 
told  him  to  lie  down  there  and  rest  himself. 

As  they  passed  the  different  mile-stones,  Oliver  won 
dered,  more  and  more,  where  his  companion  meant 
to  take  him.  Kensington,  Hammersmith,  Chiswick, 
Kew  Bridge,  Brentford,  were  all  passed ;  and  yet  they 
went  on  as  steadily  as  if  they  had  only  just  begun 
their  journey.  At  length  they  came  to  a  public- 
house  called  the  Coach  and  Horses  ;  a  little  way  be 
yond  which,  another  road  appeared  to  turn  off.  And 
here  the  cart  stopped. 

Sikes  dismounted  with  great  precipitation,  holding 
Oliver  by  the  hand  all  the  while ;  and,  lifting  him 
down  directly,  bestowed  a  furious  look  upon  him, 
and  rapped  the  side-pocket  with  his  list  in  a  signifi 
cant  manner. 

"  Good-bye,  boy,"  said  the  man. 

"  He's  sulky,"  replied  Sikes,  giving  him  a  shake  ; 
"  he's  sulky.  A  young  dog !  Don't  mind  him." 

"  Not  I !"  rejoined  the  other,  getting  into  his  cart. 
"  It's  a  fine  day,  after  all."  And  he  drove  away. 

Sikes  waited  until  he  had  fairly  gone ;  and  then 
telling  Oliver  he  might  look  about  him  if  he  wanted, 
once  again  led  him  onward  on  his  journey. 

They  turned  rouud  to  the  left,  a  short  way  past 
the  public  -  house ;  and  then,  taking  a  right-hand 
road,  walked  on  for  a  long  time  ;  passing  many  large 
gardens  and  gentlemen's  houses  on  both  sides  of  the 
way,  and  stopping  for  nothing  but  a  little  beer  until 
they  reached  a  town.  Here,  against  the  wall  of  a 
house,  Oliver  saw  written  up  in  pretty  large  letters, 
"  Hampton."  They  lingered  about  in  the  fields  for 
some  hours.  At  length  they  came  back  into  the 
town  ;  and,  turning  into  an  old  public-house  with  a 
defaced  sign-board,  ordered  some  dinner  by  the  kitch 
en  fire. 

The.  kitchen  was  an  old,  low -roofed  room;  with 
;>  great  beam  across  the  middle  of  the  ceiling,  and 
benches,  with  high  backs  to  them,  by  the  fire ;  on 


which  were  seated  several  rough  men  in  smock-frocks, 
drinking  and  smoking.  They  took  no  notice  of  Oli 
ver,  and  very  little  of  Sikes ;  and,  as  Sikes  took  -very 
little  notice  of  them,  he  and  his  young  comrade  sat 
in  a  corner  by  themselves,  without  being  much  trou 
bled  by  their  company. 

They  had  some  cold  meat  for  dinner,  and  sat  so 
long  after  it,  while  Mr.  Sikes  indulged  himself  Avith 
three  or  four  pipes,  that  Oliver  began  to  feel  quite 
certain  they  were  not  going  any  farther.  Being 
much  tired  with  the  walk,  and  getting  up  so  early, 
he  dozed  a  little  at  first ;  then,  quite  overpowered  by 
fatigue  and  the  fumes  of  the  tobacco,  fell  asleep. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  he  was  awakened  by  a 
push  from  Sikes.  Rousing  himself  sufficiently  to  sit 
up  and  look  about  him,  he  found  that  worthy  in  close 
fellowship  and  communication  with  a  laboring-man, 
over  a  pint  of  ale. 

"  So  you're  going  on  to  Lower  Halliford,  are  you  ?" 
inquired  Sikes. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  replied  the  man,  who  seemed  a  little 
the  worse — or  better,  as  the  case  might  be — for  drink 
ing  ;  " and  not  slow  about  it,  neither.  My  horse  hasn't 
got  a  load  behind  him  going  back,  as  he  had  coming 
up  in  the  mornin' ;  and  he  won't  be  long  a-doiug  of 
it.  Here's  luck  to  him I  Ecod !  he's  a  good  un !" 

"  Could  you  give  my  boy  and  me  a  lift  as  far  as 
there  ?"  demanded  Sikes,  pushing  the  ale  toward  his 
new  friend. 

"  If  you're  going  directly,  I  can,"  replied  the  man, 
looking  out  of  the  pot.  "Are  you  going  to  Halli 
ford?" 

"  Going  on  to  Shepperton,"  replied  Sikes. 

"  I'm  your  man,  as  far  as  I  go,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Is  all  paid,  Becky  f ' 

"  Yes,  the  other  gentleman's  paid,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  I  say !"  said  the  man,  with  tipsy  gravity ;  "  that 
won't  do,  you  know." 

"  Why  not  ?"  rejoined  Sikes.  "  You're  a-going  to 
accommodate  us,  and.  wot's  to  prevent  my  standing 
treat  for  a  pint  or  so,  in  return  ?" 

The  stranger  reflected  upon  this  argument  with  a 
very  profound  face ;  having  done  so,  he  seized  Sikes 
by  the  hand,  and  declared  ho  was  a  real  good  fellow. 
To  which  Mr.  Sikes  replied,  ho  was  joking ;  as,  if  he 
had  been  sober,  there  would  have  been  strong  reason 
to  suppose  he  was. 

After  the  exchange  of  a  few  more  compliments, 
they  bade  the  company  good-night,  and  went  out ; 
the  girl  gathering  up  the  pots  and  glasses  as  they 
did  so,  and  lounging  out  to  the  door,  with  her  hands 
full,  to  see  the  party  start. 

The  horse,  whose  health  had  been  drunk  in  his  ab 
sence,  was  standing  outside,  ready  harnessed  to  the 
cart.  Oliver  and  Sikes  got  in  without  any  further 
ceremony ;  and  the  man  to  whom  he  belonged,  hav 
ing  lingered  for  a  minute  or  twro  "to  bear  him  up," 
and  to  defy  the  hostler  and  the  •world,  to  produce  his 
equal,  mounted  also.  Then  the  hostler  was  told  to 
give  the  horse  his  head;  and,  his  head  being  given 
him,  he  made  a  very  unpleasant  use  of  it — tossing  it 
into  the  air  with  great  disdain,  and  running  into  the 
parlor  windows  over  the  way :  after  performing  those 
feats,  and  supporting  himself  for  a  short  time  on  his 
hind-legs,  he  started  off  at  great  speed,  and  rattled 
out  of  the  town  right  gallantly. 


70 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


The  night  Avas  very  dark.  A  damp  mist  rose  from 
the  river  and  the  marshy  ground  about,  and  spread 
itself  over  the  dreary  fields.  It  was  piercing  cold, 
too;  all  was  gloomy  and  black.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken ;  for  the  driver  had  grown  sleepy,  and  Sikes 
was  in  no  mood  to  lead  him  into  conversation.  Oli 
ver  sat  huddled  together  in  a  corner  of  the  cart,  be 
wildered  with  alarm  and  apprehension  ;  and  figuring 
strange  objects  in  the  gaunt  trees,  whose  branches 
waved  grimly  to  and  fro,  as  if  in  some  fantastic  joy 
at  the  desolation  of  the  scene. 

As  they  passed  Suubury  Church,  the  clock  struck 
seven.  There  was  a  light  in  the  ferry -house  win 
dow  opposite,  which  streamed  across  the  road,  and 
threw  into  more  sombre  shadow  a  dark  yew-tree 
with  graves  beneath  it.  There  was  a  dull  sound  of 


the  bridge,  then  turned  suddenly  down  a  bank  upon 
the  left. 

"  The  water !"  thought  Oliver,  turning  sick  with 
fear.  "He  has  brought  me  to  this  lonely  place  to 
murder  me !" 

He  was  about  to  throw  himself  on  the  ground,  and 
make  one  struggle  for  his  young  life,  when  he  saw 
that  they  stood  before  a  solitary  house,  all  ruinous 
and  decayed.  There  was  a  window  on  each  side  of 
the  dilapidated  entrance,  and  one  story  above,  but 
no  light  was  visible.  The  house  was  dark,  disman 
tled  ;  and,  to  all  appearance,  uninhabited. 

Sikes,  with  Oliver's  hand  still  in  his,  softly  ap 
proached  the  low  porch  and  raised  the  latch.  The 
door  yielded  to  the  pressure,  and  they  passed  in  to 
gether. 


'  8IKE8,  WITH   OLIVER'S   HAND   STILL  IN   HIS,   SOFTLY   Al'l'JROAOUEl)   T11E  LOW   POKOU." 


falling  water  not  far  off;  and  the  leaves  of  the  old 
tree  stirred  gently  in  the  night  wind.  It  seemed  like 
quiet  music  for  the  repose  of  the  dead. 

Sunbury  was  passed  through,  and  they  came  again 
into  the  lonely  road.  Two  or  three  miles  more,  and 
the  cart  stopped.  Sikes  alighted,  took  Oliver  by  the 
hand,  and  they  once  again  walked  on. 

They  turned  into  no  house  at  Shepperton,  as  the 
weary  boy  had  expected ;  but  still  kept  walking  on, 
in  mud  and  darkness,  through  gloomy  lanes  and  over 
cold  open  wastes,  until  they  came  within  sight  of  the 
lights  of  a  town  at  no  great  distance.  On  looking 
intently  forward,  Oliver  saw  that  the  water  was  just 
below  them,  and  that  they  were  coming  to  the  foot 
of  a  bridge. 

Sikes  kept  straight  on  until  they  were  close  upon 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  BURGLARY. 

"  TTALLOO  !"  cried  a  loud,  hoarse  voice,  as  soon  as 
Xl_  they  set  foot  in  the  passage. 

"  Don't  make  such  a  row,"  said  Sikes,  bolting  the 
door.  "  Show  a  glim,  Toby." 

"Aha!  rny  pal!"  cried  the  same  voice.  "A  glim, 
Barney,  a  glim !  Show  the  gentleman  in,  Barney ; 
wake  up,  first,  if  convenient." 

The  speaker  appeared  to  throw  a  boot -jack,  or 
some  such  article,  at  the  person  he  addressed,  to  rouse 
him  from  his  slumbers ;  for  the  noise  of  a  wooden 
body,  falling  violently,  was  heard ;  and  then  an  in 
distinct  muttering,  as  of  a  man  between  asleep  and 
awake. 


ME.  TOBY  CRACKIT. 


71 


"  Do  you  hear  ?"  cried  the  same  voice.  "  There's 
Bill  Sikes  iu  the  passage,  with  nobody  to  do  the  civil 
to  him ;  and  you  sleeping  there,  as  if  you  took  lau 
danum  -with  your  meals,  and  nothing  stronger.  Are 
you  any  fresher  now,  or  do  you  want  the  iron  candle 
stick  to  wake  you  thoroughly  ?" 

A  pair  of  slipshod  feet  shuffled,  hastily,  across  the 
bare  floor  of  the  room,  as  this  interrogatory  was  put, 
and  there  issued,  from  a  door  on  the  right  hand,  first, 
a  feeble  candle  ;  and  next,  the  form  of  the  same  in 
dividual  who  has  been  heretofore  described  as  labor 
ing  under  the  infirmity  of  speaking  through  his  nose, 
and  officiating  as  waiter  at  the  public-house  on  Saf 
fron  Hill. 

"  Bister  Sikes !"  exclaimed  Barney,  with  real  or 
counterfeit  joy ;  "  cub  id,  sir ;  cub  id." 

"  Here !  you  get  on  first,"  said  Sikes,  putting  Oli 
ver  in  front  of  him.  "Quicker!  or  I  shall  tread 
upon  your  heels." 

Muttering  a  curse  upon  his  tardiness,  Sikes  push 
ed  Oliver  before  him ;  and  they  entered  a  low  dark 
room,  with  a  smoky  fire,  two  or  three  broken  chairs, 
a  table,  and  a  very  old  couch,  on  which,  with  his 
legs  much  higher  than  his  head,  a  man  was  reposing 
at  full  length,  smoking  a  long  clay  pipe.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  smartly -cut  snuff-  colored  coat,  with 
large  brass  buttons ;  an  orange  neckerchief;  a  coarse, 
staring,  shawl-pattern  waistcoat ;  and  drab  breeches. 
Mr.  Crackit  (for  he  it  was)  had  no  very  great  quan 
tity  of  hair,  either  upon  his  head  or  face ;  but  what 
he  had  was  of  a  reddish  dye,  and  tortured  into  long 
corkscrew  curls,  through  which  he  occasionally  thrust 
some  very  dirty  fingers,  ornamented  with  large  com 
mon  rings.  He  was  a  trifle  above  the  middle  size, 
and  apparently  rather  weak  in  the  legs ;  but  this 
circumstance  by  no  means  detracted  from  his  own 
admiration  of  his  top-boots,  which  he  contemplated, 
in  their  elevated  situation,  with  lively  satisfaction. 

"  Bill,  my  boy !"  said  this  figure,  turning  his  head 
toward  the  door,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  I  was  al 
most  afraid  you'd  given  it  up ;  in  which  case  I 
should  have  made  a  personal  wentur.  Halloo !" 

Uttering  this  exclamation  in  a  tone  of  great  sur 
prise,  as  his  eye  rested  on  Oliver,  Mr.  Toby  Crackit 
brought  himself  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  demand 
ed  who  that  was. 

"  The  boy.  Only  the  boy !"  replied  Sikes,  draw 
ing  a  chair  toward  the  fire. 

"  Wud  of  Bister  Fagid's  lads,"  exclaimed  Barney, 
with  a  grin. 

"  Fagin's,  eh !"  exclaimed  Toby,  looking  at  Oliver. 
"  Wot  an  inwalable  boy  that'll  make  for  the  old 
ladies'  pockets  in  chapels!  His  mug  is  a  fortun'  to 
him." 

"  There — there's  enough  of  that,"  interposed  Sikes, 
impatiently ;  and  stooping  over  his  recumbent  friend, 
he  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear,  at  which  Mr. 
Crackit  laughed  immensely,  and  honored  Oliver  with 
a  long  stare  of  astonishment. 

"Now."'  said  Sikes,  as  he  resumed  his  seat,  "if 
you'll  give  us  something  to  eat  and  drink  while 
we're  waiting,  you'll  put  some  heart  in  us ;  or  in  me, 
at  all  events.  Sit  down  by  the  fire,  younker,  and 
rest  yourself;  for  you'll  have  to  go  out  with  us  again 
to-night,  though  not  very  far  off"." 

Oliver  looked  at  Sikes,  in  mute  and  timid  wonder ; 


and  drawing  a  stool  to  the  fire,  sat  with  his  aching 
head  upon  his  hands,  scarcely  knowing  where  he 
was,  or  what  was  passing  around  him. 

"  Here,"  said  Toby,  as  the  young  Jew  placed  some 
fragments  of  food  and  a  bottle  upon  the  table,  "  Suc 
cess  to  the  crack !"  He  rose  to  honor  the  toast,  and, 
carefully  depositing  his  empty  pipe  in  a  corner,  ad 
vanced  to  the  table,  filled  a  glass  with  spirits,  and 
drank  off"  its  contents.  Mr.  Sikes  did  the  same. 

"A  drain  for  the  boy,"  said  Toby,  half  filling  a 
wine-gtiss.  "  Down  with  it,  Innocence." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Oliver,  looking  piteously  up  into 
the  man's  face,  "  indeed,  I — 

"  Down  with  it !"  echoed  Toby.  "  Do  you  think  I 
don't  know  what's  good  for  you  I  Tell  him  to  drink 
it,  Bill." 

"  He  had  better !"  said  Sikes,  clapping  his  hand 
upon  his  pocket.  "  Burn  my  body,  if  he  isn't  more 
trouble  than  a  whole  family  of.  Dodgers !  Drink  it, 
you  perwerse  imp !  drink  it !" 

Frightened  by  the  menacing  gestures  of  the  two 
men,  Oliver  hastily  swallowed  the  contents  of  the 
glass,  and  immediately  fell  into  a  violent  fit  of  cough- 
ing,'which  delighted  Toby  Crackit  and  Barney,  and 
even  drew  a  smile  from  the  surly  Mr.  Sikes. 

This  done,  and  Sikes  having  satisfied  his  appetite 
(Oliver  could  eat  nothing  but  a  small  crust  of  bread 
which  they  made  him  swallow),  the  two  men  laid 
themselves  down  on  chairs  for  a  short  nap.  Oliver 
retained  his  stool  by  the  fire ;  Barney,  wrapped  in  a 
blanket,  stretched  himself  on  the  floor,  close  outside 
the  fender. 

They  slept,  or  appeared  to  sleep,  for  some  time ; 
nobody  stirring  but  Barney,  who  rose  once  or  twice 
to  throw  coals  upon  the  fire.  Oliver  fell  into  a  heavy 
doze,  imagining  himself  straying  along  the  gloomy 
lanes,  or  wandering  about  the  dark  church-yard,  or 
retracing  some  one  or  other  of  the  scenes  of  the  past 
day,  when  he  was  roused  by  Toby  Crackit  jumping 
up  and  declaring  it  was  half-past  one. 

In  an  instant  the  other  two  were  on  their  legs, 
and  all  were  actively  engaged  in  busy  preparation. 
Sikes  and  his  companion  enveloped  their  necks  and 
chins  in  large  dark  shawls,  and  drew  on  their  great 
coats  ;  Barney,  opening  a  cupboard,  brought  forth 
several  articles,  which  he  hastily  crammed  into  the 
pockets. 

"  Barkers  foi>me,  Barney,"  said  Toby  Crackit. 

"  Here  they  are,"  replied  Barney,  producing  a  pair 
of  pistols.  "  You  loaded  tiiem  yourself." 

"All  right !"  replied  Toby,  stowing  them  away. 
"  The  persuaders  ?" 

"  I've  got  'em,"  replied  Sikes. 

"  Crape,  keys,  centre-bits,  darkies — nothing  forgot 
ten  ?"  inquired  Toby,  fastening  a  small  crowbar  to  a 
loop  inside  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

"All  right,"  rejoinedhis  companion.  "  Bring  them 
bits  of  timber,  Barney.  That's  the  time  of  day !" 

With  these  words,  he  took  a  thick  stick  from  Bar 
ney's  hands,  who,  having  delivered  another  to  Toby, 
busied  himself  in  fastening  on  Oliver's  cape. 

"  Now  then !"  said  Sikes,  holding  out  his  hand. 

Oliver,  who  was  completely  stupefied  by  the  un 
wonted  exercise,  and  the  air,  and  the  drink  which  had 
been  forced  upon  him,  put  his  hand  mechanically  into 
that  which  Sikes  extended  for  that  purpose. 


72 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  Take  his  other  hand,  Toby,"  said  Sikes.  "  Look 
out,  Barney." 

The  man  -went  to  the  door,  and  returned  to  an 
nounce  that  all  was  quiet.  The  two  robbers  issued 
forth,  with  Oliver  between  them.  Barney,  having 
made  all  fast,  rolled  himself  up  as  before,  and  was 
soon  asleep  again. 

It  was  now  intensely  dark.  The  fog  was  much 
heavier  than  it  had  been  in  the  early  part  of  the 
night ;  and  the  atmosphere  was  so  damp,  that,  al 
though  no  rain  fell,  Oliver's  hair  and  ejjpbrows, 
within  a  few  minutes  after  leaving  the  house,  had 
become  stiff  with  the  half-frozen  moisture  that  was 
floating  about.  They  crossed  the  bridge,  and  kept 
on  toward  the  lights  which  he  had  seen  before. 
They  were  at  no  great  distance  off;  and,  as  they 
walked  pretty  briskly,  they  soon  arrived  at  Chert- 
sey. 

"Slap  through  the  town,"  whispered  Sikes; 
"  there'll  be  nobody  in  the  way  to-night  to  see  us." 

Toby  acquiesced;  and  they  hurried  through  the 
main  street  of  the  little  town,  which  at  that  late 
hour  was  wholly  deserted.  A  dim  light  shone  at  in 
tervals  from  some  bedroom  window ;  and  the  hoarse 
barking  of  dogs  occasionally  broke  the  silence  of  the 
night.  But  there  was  nobody  abroad.  They  had 
cleared  the  town,  as  the  church-bell  struck  two. 

Quickening  their  pace,  they  turned  up  a  road 
upon  the  left  hand.  After  walking  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  they  stopped  before  a  detached  house  sur 
rounded  by  a  wall,  to  the  top  of  which,  Toby  Crack- 
it,  scarcely  pausing  to  take  breath,  climbed  in  a 
twinkling. 

"  The  boy  next,"  said  Toby.  "  Hoist  him  up ;  I'll 
catch  hold  of  him." 

Before  Oliver  had  time  to  look  round,  Sikes  had 
caught  him  under  the  arms ;  and  in  three  or  four 
seconds  he  and  Toby  were  lying  on  the  grass  on  the 
other  side.  Sikes  followed  directly.  And  they  stole 
cautiously  toward  the  house. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  Oliver,  well-nigh  mad 
with  grief  and  terror,  saw  that  house-breaking  and 
robbery,  if  not  murder,  were  the  objects  of  the  expe 
dition.  He  clasped  his  hands  together,  and  invol 
untarily  uttered  a  subdued  exclamation  of  horror. 
A  mist  came  before  his  eyes ;  the  cold  sweat  stood 
upon  his  ashy  face ;  his  limbs  failed  him,  and  he 
sank  upon  his  knees.  « 

"  Get  up !"  murmured  Sikes,  trembling  with  rage, 
and  drawing  the  pistol  from  his  pocket ;  "  get  up, 
or  I'll  strew  your  brains  upon  the  grass !" 

"  Oh !  for  God's  sake  let  me  go !"  cried  Oliver ; 
"  let  me  run  away  and  die  in  the  fields.  I  will  nev 
er  come  near  London ;  never,  never !  Oh !  pray 
have  mercy  on  me,  and  do  not  make  me  steal !  For 
the  love  of  all  the  bright  angels  that  rest  in  heav 
en,  have  mercy  upon  me !" 

The  man  to  whom  this  appeal  was  made  swore  a 
dreadful  oath,  and  had  cocked  the  pistol,  when  Toby, 
striking  it  from  his  grasp,  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
boy's  mouth  and  dragged  him  to  the  house. 

"  Hush !"  cried  the  man  ;  "  it  won't  answer  here. 
Say  another  word,  and  I'll  do  your  business  myself 
with  a  crack  on  the  head.  That  makes  no  noise, 
a:ul  is  quite  as  certain,  and  more  genteel.  Here, 
Bill,  wrench  the  shutter  open.  He's  game  enough 


now,  I'll  engage.  I've  seen  older  hands  of  his  age 
took  the  same  way  for  a  minute  or  two  on  a  cold 
night." 

Sikes,  invoking  terrific  imprecations  upon  Fagiu's 
head  for  sending  Oliver  on  such  an  errand,  plied  the 
crowbar  vigorously,  but  with  little  noise.  After 
some  delay,  and  some  assistance  from  Toby,  the 
shutter  to  which  he  had  referred  swung  open  on  its 
hinges. 

It  was  a  little  lattice  window,  about  five  feet  and 
a  half  above  the  ground,  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
which  belonged  to  a  scullery,  or  small  brewing- 
place,  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  The  aperture  was 
so  small,  that  the  inmates  had  probably  not  thought 
it  worth  while  to  defend  it  more  securely ;  but  it 
was  large  enough  to  admit  a  boy  of  Oliver's  size, 
nevertheless.  A  very  brief  exercise  of  Mr.  Sikes's 
art  sufficed  to  overcome  the  fastening  of  the  lattice, 
and  it  soon  stood  wide  open  also. 

"  Now  listen,  you  young  limb !"  whispered  Sikes, 
drawing  a  dark-lantern  from  his  pocket,  and  throw 
ing  the  glare  full  on  Oliver's  face;  "I'm  a-going  to 
put  you  through 'there.  Take  this  light;  go  softly 
up  the  steps  straight  afore  you,  and  along  the  little 
hall,  to  the  street-door ;  unfasten  it,  and  let  us  in." 

"  There's  a  bolt  at  the  top  you  won't  be  able  to 
reach,"  interposed  Toby.  "  Stand  upon  one  of  the 
hall  chairs.  There  are  three  there,  Bill,  with  a  jolly 
large  blue  unicorn  and  gold  pitchfork  on  'em,  which 
is  the  old  lady's  arms." 

"Keep  quiet,  can't  you?"  replied  Sikes,  with  a 
threatening  look.  "  The  room-door  is  open,  is  it  ?" 

"  Wide,"  replied  Toby,  after  peeping  in  to  satisfy 
himself.  "The  game  of 'that  is,  that  they  always 
leave  it  open  with  a  catch,  so  that  the  dog,  who's 
got  a  bed  in  here,  may  walk  up  and  down  the  pas 
sage  when  he  feels  wakeful.  Ha !  ha !  Barney  'ticed 
him  away  to-night.  So  neat !" 

Although  Mr.  Crackit  spoke  in  a  scarcely  audible 
whisper,  and  laughed  without  noise,  Sikes  imperious 
ly  commanded  him  to  be  silent,  and  to  get  to  work. 
Toby  complied,  by  first  producing  his  lantern,  and 
placing  it  on  the  ground ;  then  by  planting  himself 
firmly  with  his  head  against  the  wall  beneath  the 
window,  and  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  so  as  to  make 
a  step  of  his  back.  This  was  no  sooner  done,  than 
Sikes,  mounting  upon  him,  put  Oliver  gently  through 
the  window  with  his  feet  first ;  and,  without  leaving 
hold  of  his  collar,  planted  him  safely  on  the  floor  in 
side. 

"  Take  this  lantern,"  said  Sikes,  looking  into  the 
room.  "  You  see  the  stairs  afore  you  ?" 

Oliver,  more  dead  than  alive,  gasped  out,  "  Yes." 
Sikes,  pointing  to  the  street-door  with  the  pistol- 
barrel,  briefly  advised  him  to  take  notice  that  he  was 
within  shot  all  the  way ;  and  that  if  he  faltered,  he 
would  fall  dead  that  instant. 

"  It's  done  iu  a  minute,"  said  Sikes,  in  the  same 
low  whisper.  "  Directly  I  leave  go  of  you,  do  your 
work.  Hark!" 

"  What's  that  ?"  whispered  the  other  man. 

They  listened  intently. 

"Nothing,"  said  Sikes,  releasing  his  hold  of  Oli 
ver.  "Now!" 

In  the  short  time  he  had  had  to  collect  his  senses. 
the  boy  had  firmly  resolved  that,  whether  he  died  iu 


MSS.  CORNET. 


the  attempt  or  not,  he  would  make  one  effort  to  dart 
up  staii-s  from  the  hall  and  alarm  the  family.  Filled 
with  this  idea,  he  advanced  at  once,  but  stealthily. 

."  Come  back !"  suddenly  cried  Sikes,  aloud — "  back ! 
back !" 

Scared  by  the  sudden  breaking  of  the  dead  still 
ness  of  the  place,  and  by  a  loud  cry  which  followed 
it,  Oliver  let  his  lantern  fall,  and  knew  not  whether 
to  advance  or  fly. 

The  cry  was  repeated — a  light  appeared — a  vision 
of  two  terrified,  half-dressed  men  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs  swam  before  his  eyes — a  flash — a  loud  noise — 
a  smoke- — a  crash  somewhere,  but  where  he  knew 
not — and  he  staggered  back. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHICH  CONTAINS  THE  SUBSTANCE  OF  A  PLEASANT  CON 
VERSATION  BETWEEN  MR.  BUMBLE  AND  A  LADY;  AND 
SHOWS  THAT  EVEN  A  BEADLE  MAT  BE  SUSCEPTIBLE  ON 
SOME  POINTS. 

THE  night  was  bitter  cold.  The  snow  lay  on  the 
ground,  frozen  into  a  hard  thick  crust,  so  that 
only  the  heaps  that  had  drifted  into  by-ways  and 
corners  were  affected  by  the  sharp  wind  that  howled 
abroad;  which,  as  if  expending  increased  fury  on 
such  prey  as  it  found,  caught  it  savagely  up  in  clouds, 
and,  whirling  it  into  a  thousand  misty  eddies,  scat 
tered  it  in  air.  Bleak,  dark,  and  piercing  cold,  it  was 


"  DIKECTLY   I   J.EA.VE   GO   OF   YOU,  DO   YOUE   WORK.      HABK  !" 


Sikes  had  disappeared  for  an  instant ;  but  he  was 
up  again,  and  had  him  by  the  collar  before  the  smoke 
had  cleared  away.  He  fired  his  own  pistol  after  the 
men,  who  were  already  retreating,  and  dragged  the 
boy  up. 

"  Clasp  your  arm  tighter,"  said  Sikes,  as  he  drew 
him  through  the  window.  "  Give  me  a  shawl  here. 
They've  hit  him.  Quick !  How  the  boy  bleeds !" 

Then  came  the  loud  ringing  of  a  bell,  mingled  with 
the  noise  of  fire-arms,  and  the  shouts  of  men,  and  the 
sensation  of  being  carried  over  uneven  ground  at  a 
rapid  pace.  And  then  the  noises  grew  confused  in 
the  distance  ;  and  a  cold  deadly  feeling  crept  over 
the  boy's  heart ;  and  he  saw  or  heard  no  more. 


a  night  for  the  well-housed  and  fed  to  draw  round 
the  bright  fire  and  thank  God  they  were  at  home : 
and  for  the  homeless,  starving  wretch  to  lay  him 
down  and  die.  Many  hunger -worn  outcasts  close 
their  eyes  in  our  bare  streets  at  such  times,  who,  let 
their  crimes  have  been  what  they  may,  can  hardly 
open  them  in  a  more  bitter  world. 

Such  were  the  aspect  of  out-of-door  affairs,  when 
Mrs.  Corney,  the  matron  of  the.  work-house  to  which 
our  readers  have  been  already  introduced  as  the 
birthplace  of  Oliver  Twist,  sat  herself  down  before 
a  cheerful  fire  in  her  own  little  room,  and  glanced, 
with  no  small  degree  of  complacency,  at  a  small 
round  table,  on  which  stood  a  tray  of  corresponding 


74 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


size,  furnished  with  all  necessary  materials  for  the 
most  grateful  meal  that  matrons  enjoy.  In  fact, 
Mrs.  Corney  was  about  to  solace  herself  with  a  cup 
of  tea.  As  she  glanced  from  the  table  to  the  fire 
place,  where  the  smallest  of  all  possible  kettles  was 
singing  a  small  song  in  a  small  voice,  her  inward  sat 
isfaction  evidently  increased — so  much  so,  indeed, 
that  Mrs.  Corney  smiled. 

"  Well !"  said  the  matron,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the 
table,  and  looking  reflectively  at  the  fire ;  "  I'm  sure 
we  have  all  on  us  a  great  deal  to  be  grateful  for !  A 
great  deal,  if  we  did  but  know  it.  Ah !" 

Mrs.  Corney  shook  her  head  mournfully,  as  if  de 
ploring  the  mental  blindness  of  those  paupers  who 
did  not  know  it ;  and  thrusting  a  silver  spoon  (pri 
vate  property)  into  the  inmost  recesses  of  a  two- 
ounce  tin  tea-caddy,  proceeded  to  make  the  tea. 

How  slight  a  thing  will  disturb  the  equanimity  of 
our  frail  minds !  The  black  tea-pot,  being  very 
small  and  easily  filled,  ran  over  while  Mrs.  Corney 
was  moralizing,  and  the  water  slightly  scalded  Mrs. 
Corney's  hand. 

"  Drat  the  pot !"  said  the  worthy  matron,  setting 
it  down  very  hastily  on  the  hob :  "  a  little  stupid 
thing,  that  only  holds  a  couple  of  cups !  What  use 
is  it  of  to  any  body !  Except,"  said  Mrs.  Corney, 
pausing, "  except  to  a  poor  desolate  creature  like  rne. 
Oh  dear!" 

With  these  words,  the  matron  dropped  into  her 
chair,  and,  once  more  resting  her  elbow  on  the  table, 
thought  of  her  solitary  fate.  The  small  tea-pot,  and 
the  single  cup,  had  awakened  in  her  mind  sad  recol 
lections  of  Mr.  Corney  (who  had  not  been  dead  more 
than  five-aud-twenty  years) ;  and  she  was  overpow 
ered. 

"  I  ehall  never  get  another !"  said  Mrs.  Corney,  pet 
tishly  ;  "  I  shall  never  get  another — like  him !" 

Whether  this  remark  bore  reference  to  the  hus 
band,  or  the  tea-pot,  is  uncertain.  It  might  have 
been  the  latter ;  for  Mrs.  Corney  looked  at  it  as  she 
spoke;  and  took  it  up  afterward.  She  had  just 
tasted  her  first  cup,  when  she  was  disturbed  by  a 
soft  tap  at  the  room-door. 

"  Oh,  come  in  with  you !"  said  Mrs.  Corney,  sharply. 
"  Some  of  the  old  women  dying,  I  suppose.     They  al 
ways  die  when  I'm  at  meals.     Don't  stand  there  let 
ting  the  cold  air  in,  don't.     What's  amiss  now,  eh  f " 
'      "  Nothing,  ma'am,  nothing,"  replied  a  man's  voice. 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  the  matron,  in  a  much 
sweeter  tone,  "  is  that  Mr.  Bumble  ?" 

"  At  your  service,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  who 
had  been  stopping  outside  to  rub  his  shoes  clean, 
and  to  shake  the  snow  off  his  coat ;  and  who  now 
made  his  appearance,  bearing  the  cocked  hat  in  one 
hand  and  a  bundle  in  the  other.  "  Shall  I  shut  the 
door,  ma'am  ?" 

The  lady  modestly  hesitated  to  reply,  lest  there 
should  be  any  impropriety  in  holding  an  interview 
with  Mr.  Bumble  with  closed  doors.  Mr.  Bumble 
taking  advantage  of  the  hesitation,  and  being  very 
cold  himself,  shut  it  without  permission. 

"  Hard  weather,  Mr.  Bumble,"  said  the  matron. 

"  Hard,  indeed,  ma'am,"  replied  the  beadle.  "  Anti- 
porochial  weather  this,  ma'am.  We  have  given  away, 
Mrs.  Corney,  we  have  given  away  a  matter  of  twenty 
quartern  loaves  and  a  cheese  and  a  half,  this  very 


blessed  afternoon;  and  yet  them  paupers  are  not 
contented." 

"  Of  course  not.  When  would  they  be,  Mr.  Bum 
ble  ?"  said  the  matron,  sipping  her  tea. 

"  When,  indeed,  ma'am !"  rejoined  Mr.  Bumble. 
"  Why  here's  one  man  that,  in  consideration  of  his 
wife  and  large  family,  has  a  quartern  loaf  and  a 
good  pound  of  cheese,  full  weight.  Is  he  grateful, 
ma'am?  Is  he  grateful?  Not  a  copper  farthing's 
worth  of  it !  What  does  he  do,  ma'am,  but  ask  for 
a  few  coals;  if  it's  only  a  pocket-handkerchief  full, 
he  says!  Coals!  What  would  he  do  with  coals? 
Toast  his  cheese  with  'em,  and  then  come  back  for 
more.  That's  the  way  with  these  people,  ma'am ; 
give  'em  a  apron -ful  of  coals  to-day,  and  they'll 
come  back  for  another  the  day  after  to-morrow,  as 
brazen  as  alabaster !" 

The  matron  expressed  her  entire  concurrence  in 
this  intelligible  simile ;  and  the  beadle  went  on. 

"  I  never,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  "  see  any  thing  like 
the  pitch  it's  got  to.  The  day  afore  yesterday,  a 
man — you  have  been  a  married  woman,  ma'am,  and 
I  may  mention  it  to  you — a  man,  with  hardly  a  rag 
upon  his  back  (here  Mrs.  Corney  looked  at  the  floor), 
goes  to  our  overseer's  door  when  he  has  got  company 
coming  to  dinner ;  and  says,  he  must  be  relieved,  Mrs. 
Coruey.  As  he  wouldn't  go  away,  and  shocked  the 
company  very  much,  our  overseer  sent  him  out  a 
pound  of  potatoes  and  half  a  pint  of  oatmeal.  '  My 
heart !'  says  the  ungrateful  villain, '  what's  the  use 
of  this  to  me  ?  You  might  as  well  give  me  a  pair  of 
iron  spectacles !'  '  Very  good,'  says  our  overseer,  tak 
ing  'em  away  again, '  you  won't  get  any  thing  else 
here.'  'Then  I'll  die  in  the  streets!'  says  the  va 
grant.  '  Oh  no,  you  won't/  says  our  overseer." 

"Ha!  ha!  That  was  very  good!  So  like  Mr. 
Granuett,  wasn't  it  ?"  interposed  the  matron.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Bumble  ?" 

"Well,  ma'am,"  rejoined  the  beadle,  "he  went 
away ;  and  he  did  die  in  the  streets.  There's  a  ob 
stinate  pauper  for  you !" 

"  It  beats  any  thing  I  could  have  believed,"  ob 
served  the  matron,  emphatically.  "  But  don't  you 
think  out-of-door  relief  a  very  bad  thing,  any  way, 
Mr.  Bumble  ?  You're  a  gentleman  of  experience,  and 
ought  to  know.  Come." 

"  Mrs.  Corney,"  said  the  beadle,  smiling  as  men 
smile  who  are  conscious  of  superior  information, 
"out-of-door  relief,  properly  managed — properly 
managed,  ma'arn — is  the  porochial  safeguard.  The 
great  principle  of  out-of-door  relief  is,  to  give  the 
paupers  exactly  what  they  don't  want;  and  then 
they  get  tired  of  coming." 

"  Dear  me !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Corney.  "  Well,  that 
is  a  good  one,  too !" 

"  Yes.  Betwixt  you  and  me,  ma'am,"  returned  Mr. 
Bumble,  "  that's  the  great  principle ;  and  that's  the 
reason  why,  if  you  look  at  any  cases  that  get  into 
them  owdacious  newspapers,  you'll  always  observe 
that  sick  families  have  been  relieved  with  slices  of 
cheese.  That's  the  rule  now,  Mrs.  Corney,  all  over 
the  country.  But,  however,"  said  the  beadle,  stop 
ping  to  unpack  his  bundle,  "  these  are  official  secrets, 
ma'am ;  not  to  be  spoken  of;  except,  as  I  may  say, 
among  the  porochial  officers,  such  as  ourselves.  This 
is  the  port-wine,  ma'am,  that  the  board  ordered  for 


MRS.  CORNET  AND  MR.  BUMBLE. 


the  infirmary ;  real,  fresh,  genuine  port-wine ;  only 
out  of  the  cask  this  forenoon ;  clear  as  a  bell,  and 
no  sediment !" 

Having  held  the  first  bottle  up  to  the  light,  and 
shaken  it  well  to  test  its  excellence,  Mr.  Bumble 
placed  them  both  on  the  top  of  a  chest  of  drawers ; 
folded  the  handkerchief  in  which  they  had  been 
wrapped;  put  it  carefully  in  his  pocket;  and  took 
up  his  hat,  as  if  to  go. 

"  You'll  have  a  very  cold  walk,  Mr.  Bumble,"  said 
the  matron. 

"  It  blows,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble,  turning  up 
his  coat-collar,  "  enough  to  cut  one's  ears  off." 

The  matron  looked  from  the  little  kettle  to  the 
beadle,  who  was  moving  toward  the  door ;  and  as 
the  beadle  coughed,  preparatory  to  bidding  her 
good-night,  bashfully  inquired  whether — wrhether  he 
wouldn't  take  a  cup  of  tea  ? 

Mr.  Bumble  instantaneously  turned  back  his  collar 
again  ;  laid  his  hat  and  stick  upon  a  chair ;  and  drew 
another  chair  up  to  the  table.  As  he  slowly  seated 
himself,  he  looked  at  the  lady.  She  fixed  her  eyes 
upon  the  little  tea-pot.  Mr.  Bumble  coughed  again, 
and  slightly  smiled. 

Mrs.  Corney  rose  to  get  another  cup  and  saucer 
from  the  closet.  As  she  sat  down,  her  eyes  once 
again  encountered  those  of  the  gallant  beadle :  she 
colored,  and  applied  herself  to  the  task  of  making 
his  tea.  Again  Mr.  Bumble  coughed — louder  this 
time  than  he  had  coughed  yet. 

"  Sweet,  Mr.  Bumble  ?"  inquired  the  matron,  tak 
ing  up  the  sugar-basin. 

"  Very  sweet  indeed,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble. 
He  fixed  his  eyes  on  Mrs.  Corney  as  he  said  this ;  and 
if  ever  a  beadle  looked  tender,  Mr.  Bumble  was  that 
beadle  at  that  moment. 

The  tea  was  made  and  handed  in  silence.  Mr. 
Bumble,  having  spread  a  handkerchief  over  his  knees 
to  prevent  the  crumbs  from  sullying  the  splendor  of 
his  shorts,  began  to  eat  and  drink ;  varying  these 
amusements,  occasionally,  by  fetching  a  deep  sigh ; 
which,  however,  had  no  injurious  effect  upon  his  ap 
petite,  but,  on  the  contrary,  rather  seemed  to  facili 
tate  his  operations  in  the  tea-and-toast  department. 

"  You  have  a  cat,  ma'am,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
glancing  at  one  who,  in  the  centre  of  her  family,  was 
basking  before  the  fire ;  "  and  kittens  too,  I  declare !" 

"  I  am  so  fond  of  them,  Mr.  Bumble,  you  can't 
think,"  replied  the  matron.  "  They're  so  happy,  so 
frolicsome,  and  so  cheerful,  that  they  are  quite  com 
panions  for  me." 

"  Very  nice  animals,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble, 
approvingly ;  "  so  very  domestic." 

"  Oh,  yes !"  rejoined  the  matron  with  enthusiasm ; 
"  so  fond  of  their  home  too,  that  it's  quite  a  pleasure, 
I'm  sure." 

"  Mrs.  Corney,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  slowly,  and 
marking  the  time  with  his  tea-spoon,  "  I  mean  to  say 
this,  ma'am ;  that  any  cat,  or  kitten,  that  could  live 
with  you,  ma'am,  and  not  be  fond  of  its  home,  must 
be  a  ass,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bumble !"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Corney. 

"It's  of  no  use  disguising  facts,  ma'am, "said  Mr. 
Bumble,  slowly  flourishing  the  tea-spoon  with  a  kind 
of  amorous  dignity  which  made  him  doubly  impress 
ive  ;  "  I  would  drown  it  myself  with  pleasure." 


"  Then  you're  a  cruel  man,"  said  the  matron  viva 
ciously,  as  she  held  out  her  hand  for  the  beadle's 
cup ;  "  and  a  very  hard-hearted  man  besides." 

"  Hard-hearted,  ma'am  ?"  said  Mr.  Bumble.  "  Hard  ?" 
Mr.  Bumble  resigned  his  cup  without  another  word ; 
squeezed  Mrs.  Corney's  little  finger  as  she  took  it ; 
and  inflicting  two  open-handed  slaps  upon  his  laced 
waistcoat,  gave  a  mighty  sigh,  and  hitched  his  chair 
a  very  little  morsel  farther  from  the  tire. 

It  was  a  round  table ;  and  as  Mrs.  Corney  and  Mr. 
Bumble  had  been  sitting  opposite  each  other,  with 
no  great  space  between  them,  and  fronting  the  fire, 
it  will  be  seen  that  Mr.  Bumble,  in  receding  from 
the  fire,  and  still  keeping  at  the  table,  increased  the 
distance  between  himself  and  Mrs.  Corney ;  which 
proceeding  some  prudent  readers  will  doubtless  be 
disposed  to  admire,  and  to  consider  an  act  of  great 
heroism-  on  Mr.  Bumble's  part :  he  being  in  some  sort 
tempted  by  time,  place,  and  opportunity,  to  give  ut 
terance  to  certain  soft  nothings,  which,  however  well 
they  may  become  the  lips  of  the  light  and  thought 
less,  do  seem  immeasurably  beneath  the  dignity  of 
the  judges  of  the  land,  members  of  Parliament,  min 
isters  of  state,  lord  mayors,  and  other  great  public 
functionaries,  but  more  particularly  beneath  the 
stateliness  and  gravity  of  a  beadle,  who  (as  is  well 
known)  should  be  the  sternest  and  most  inflexible 
among  them  all. 

Whatever  were  Mr.  Bumble's  intentions,  however 
(and  no  doitbt  they  were  of  the  best),  it  iinfortu- 
nately  happened,  as  has  been  twice  before  remarked, 
that  the  table  was  a  round  one;  consequently  Mr. 
Bumble,  moving  his  chair  by  little  and  little,  soon 
began  to  diminish  the  distance  between  himself  and 
the  matron ;  and,  continuing  to  travel  round  the  out 
er  edge  of  the  circle,  brought  his  chair,  in  time,  close 
to  that  in  which  the  matron  was  seated.  Indeed,  the 
two  chairs  touched ;  and  when  they  did  so,  Mr.  Bum 
ble  stopped. 

Now,  if  the  matron  had  moved  her  chair  to  the 
right,  she  would  have  been  scorched  by  the  fire ; 
and  if  to  the  left,  she  must  have  fallen  into  Mr. 
Bumble's  arms ;  so  (being  a  discreet  matron,  and  no 
doubt  foreseeing  these  consequences  at  a  glance)  she 
remained  where  she  was,  and  handed  Mr.  Bumble  an 
other  cup  of  tea. 

"Hard-hearted,  Mrs.  Corney?"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
stirring  his  tea,  and  looking  up  into  the  matron's 
face ;  "  are  you  hard-hearted,  Mrs.  Corney  ?" 

"  Dear  me !"  exclaimed  the  matron,  "  what  a  very 
curious  question  from  a  single  man !  What  can  you 
want  to  know  for,  Mr.  Bumble  ?" 

The  beadle  drank  his  tea  to  the  last  drop ;  finished 
a  piece  of  toast ;  whisked  the  crumbs  off  his  knees ; 
wiped  his  lips ;  and  deliberately  kissed  the  matron. 

"  Mr.  Bumble !"  cried  that  discreet  lady  in  a  whis 
per  ;  for  the  fright  was  so  great,  that  she  had  quite 
lost  her  voice ;  "  Mr.  Bumble,  I  shall  scream !"  Mr. 
Bumble  made  no  reply ;  but  in  a  slow  and  dignified 
manner  put  his  arms  round  the  matron's  waist. 

As  the  lady  had  stated  her  intention  of  screaming, 
of  course  she  would  have  screamed  at  this  additional 
boldness,  but  that  the  exertion  was  rendered  unnec 
essary  by  a  hasty  knocking  at  the  door :  which  was 
no  sooner  heard,  than  Mr.  Bumble  darted,  with  much 
agility,  to  the  wine  bottles,  aoid  began  dusting  theoi 


76 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


•with  great  violence,  while  the  matron  sharply  de 
manded  who  was  there.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  as 
a  curious  physical  instance  of  the  efficacy  of  a  sud 
den  surprise  in  counteracting  the  effects  of  extreme 
fear,  that  her  voice  had  quite  recovered  all  its  official 
asperity. 

"  If  you  please,  mistress,"  said  a  withered  old  fe 
male  pauper,  hideously  ugly,  putting  her  head  in  at 
the  door,  "  Old  Sally  is  a-going  fast." 

"  Well,  what's  that  to  me  ?"  angrily  demanded  the 
matron.  "  I  can't  keep  her  alive,  can  I  ?" 

"  No,  no,  mistress,"  replied  the  old  woman,  "  no 
body  can ;  she's  far  beyond  the  reach  of  help.  I've 
seen  a  many  people  die  —  little  babes  and  great 
strong  men  —  and  I  know  when  death's  a  -  coming 
well  enough.  But  she's  troubled  in  her  mind ;  and 
when  the  tits  are  not  on  her — and  that's  not  often, 
for  she  is  dying  very  hard  —  she  says  she  has  got 
something  to  tell  which  you  must  hear.  She'll  never 
die  quiet  till  you  come,  mistress." 

At  this  intelligence,  the  worthy  Mrs.  Corney  mut 
tered  a  variety  of  invectives  against  old  women  who 
couldn't  even  die  without  purposely  annoying  their 
betters ;  and  muffling  herself  in  a  thick  shawl  which 
she  hastily  caught  up,  briefly  requested  Mr,  Bumble 
to  stay  till  she  came  back,  lest  any  thing  particular 
should  occur.  Bidding  the  messenger  walk  fast,  and 
not  be  all  night  hobbling  up  the  stairs,  she  followed 
her  from  the  room  with  a  very  ill  grace,  scolding  all 
the  way. 

Mr.  Bumble's  conduct  on  being  left  to  himself  was 
rather  inexplicable.  He  opened  the  closet,  counted 
the  tea-spoons,  weighed  the  sugar-tongs,  closely  in 
spected  a  silver  milk-pot  to  ascertain  that  it  was  of 
the  genuine  metal,  and,  having  satisfied  his  curiosity 
on  these  points,  put  on  his  cocked  hat  corner-wise, 
and  danced  with  much  gravity  four  distinct  times 
round  the  table.  Having  gone  through  this  very 
extraordinary  performance,  he  took  off  the  cocked 
hat  again,  and,  spreading  himself  before  the  fire  with 
his  back  toward  it,  seemed  to  be  mentally  engaged 
in  taking  an  exact  inventory  of  the  furniture. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TREATS  OF  A  VERT  POOR  SUBJECT.  BUT  IS  A  SHORT 
ONE,  AND  MAT  BE  FOUND  OF  IMPORTANCE  IN  THIS 
HISTORT. 

IT  was  no  unfit  messenger  of  death  who  had  dis 
turbed  the  quiet  of  the  matron's  room.  Her  body 
was  bent  by  age ;  her  limbs  trembled  with  palsy ; 
her  face,  distorted  into  a  mumbling  leer,  resembled 
more  the  grotesque  shaping  of  some  wild  pencil 
than  the  work  of  Nature's  hand. 

Alas!  how  few  of  Nature's  faces  are  left  alone,  to 
gladden  us  with  their  beauty !  The  cares,  and  sor 
rows,  and  hungerings,  of  the  world,  change  them  as 
they  change  hearts ;  and  it  is  only  when  those  pas 
sions  sleep,  and  have  lost  their  hold  forever,  that  the 
troubled  clouds  pass  off,  and  leave  Heaven's  surface 
clear.  It  is  a  common  thing  for  the  countenances 
of  the  dead,  even  in  that  fixed  and  rigid  state,  to 
subside  into  the  long-forgotten  expression  of  sleep 
ing  infancy,  and  settle  into  the  very  look  of  early 


life.  So  calm,  so  peaceful,  do  they  grow  again,  that 
those  Avho  knew  them  in  their  happy  childhood, 
kneel  by  the  coffin's  side  in  awe,  and  see  the  Angel 
even  upon  earth. 

The  old  crone  tottered  along  the  passages,  and  up 
the  stairs,  nmttering  some  indistinct  answers  to  the 
eludings  of  her  companion.  Being  at  length  com 
pelled  to  pause  for  breath,  she  gave  the  light  into 
her  hand,  and  remained  behind  to  follow  as  she 
might;  while  the  more  nimble  superior  made  her 
way  to  the  room  where  the  sick  woman  lay. 

It  was  a  bare  garret-room,  with  a  dim  light  burn 
ing  at  the  farther  end.  There  was  another  old  wom 
an  watching  by  the  bed ;  the  parish  apothecary's  ap 
prentice  was  standing  by  the  fire,  making  a  tooth 
pick  out  of  a  quill. 

"  Cold  night,  Mrs.  Corney,"  said  this  young  gentle 
man,  as  the  matron  entered. 

"Very  cold,  indeed,  sir,"  replied  the  mistress,  in 
her  most  civil  tones,  and  dropping  a  courtesy  as  she 
spoke. 

"  You  should  get  better  coals  out  of  your  contract 
ors,"  said  the  apothecary's  deputy,  breaking  a  lump 
on  the  top  of  the  fire  with  the  rusty  poker;  "these 
are  not  at  all  the  sort  of  thing  for  a  cold  night." 

"  They're  the  board's  choosing,  sir,"  returned  the 
matron.  "  The  least  they  could  do  would  be  to  keep 
us  pretty  warm ;  for  our  places  are  hard  enough." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  moan 
from  the  sick  woman. 

"  Oh !"  said  the  young  man,  turning  his  face  to 
ward  the  bed,  as  if  he  had  previously  quite  forgotten 
the  patient,  "  it's  all  U  P  there,  Mrs.  Corney." 

"  It  is,  is  it,  sir  ?"  asked  the  matron. 

"If  she  lasts  a  couple  of  hours,  I  shall  be  sur 
prised,"  said  the  apothecary's  apprentice,  intent 
upon  the  tooth-pick's  point.  "  It's  a  break-up  of  the 
system  altogether.  Is  she  dozing,  old  lady  ?" 

The  attendant  stooped  over  the  bed,  to  ascertain, 
and  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then  perhaps  she'll  go  off  in  that  way,  if  you 
don't  make  a  row,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Put  the 
light  on  the  floor.  She  won't  see  it  there." 

The  attendant  did  as  she  was  told,  shaking  her 
head  meanwhile,  to  intimate  that  the  woman  would 
not  die  so  easily ;  having  done  so,  she  resumed  her 
seat  by  the  side  of  the  other  nurse,  who  had  by  this 
time  returned.  The  mistress,  with  an  expression  of 
impatience,  wrapped  herself  in  her  shawl,  and  sat  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed. 

The  apothecary's  apprentice,  having  completed 
the  manufacture  of  the  tooth-pick,  planted  himself 
in  front  of  the  fire,  and  made  good  use  of  it  for  ten 
minutes  or  so :  when  apparently  growing  rather  dull, 
he  wished  Mrs.  Corney  joy  of  her  job,  and  took  him 
self  off  on  tiptoe. 

When  they  had  sat  in  silence  for  some  time,  the 
two  old  women  rose  from  the  bed,  and,  crouching 
over  the  fire,  held  out  their  withered  hands  to  catch 
the  heat.  The  flame  threw  a  ghastly  light  on  their 
shriveled  faces,  and  made  their  ugliness  appear  ter 
rible,  as,  in  this  position,  they  began  to  converse  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Did  she  say  any  more,  Anny  dear,  while  I  was 
gone  f '  inquired  the  messenger. 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  the  other.     "  She  plucked 


A  DEATH-BED   CONFESSION. 


77 


and  tore  at  her  arms  for  a  little  time ;  but  I  held  her 
hands,  and  she  soon  dropped  off.  She  hasn't  much 
strength  in  her,  so  I  easily  kept  her  quiet.  I  ain't 
so  weak  for  an  old  woman,  although  I  am  on  parish 
allowance  ;  no,  no !" 

"  Did  she  drink  the  hot  wine  the  doctor  said  she 
was  to  have  ?"  demanded  the  first. 

"  I  tried  to  get  it  down,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  But 
her  teeth  were  tight  set,  and  she  clenched  the  mug 
so  hard  that  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  get  it- 
back  again.  So  /  drank  it ;  and  it  did  me  good." 

Looking  cautiously  round,  to  ascertain  that  they 
were  not  overheard,  the  two  hags  cowered  nearer  to 
the  fire,  and  chuckled  heartily. 

"  I  mind  the  time,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "  when 
she  would  have  done  the  same,  and  made  rare  fun  of 
it  afterward." 

"Ay,  that  she  would,"  rejoined  the  other;  "she 
had  a  merry  heart.  A  many,  many  beautiful  corpses 
she  laid  out,  as  nice  and  neat  as  wax-work.  My  old 
eyes  have  seen  them — ay,  and  those  old  hands  touch 
ed  them  too ;  for  I  have  helped  her  scores  of  times." 

Stretching  forth  her  trembling  fingers  as  she  spoke, 
the  old  creature  shook  them  exultingly  before  her 
face,  and  fumbling  in  her  pocket,  brought  out  an  old 
time-discolored  tin  snuff-box,  from  which  she  shook 
a  few  grains  into  the  outstretched  palm  of  her  com 
panion,  and  a  few  more  into  her  own.  While  they 
were  thus  employed,  the  matron,  who  had  been  im 
patiently  watching  until  the  dying  woman  should 
awaken  from  her  stupor,  joined  them  by  the  fire,  and 
sharply  asked  how  long  she  was  to  wait  ?" 

"  Not  long,  mistress,"  replied  the  second  woman, 
looking  up  into  her  face.  "We  have  none  of  us  long 
to  wait  for  Death.  Patience,  patience !  He'll  be  here 
soon  enough  for  us  all." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  doting  idiot !'  said  the 
matron,  sternly.  "  You,  Martha,  tell  me ;  has  she 
been  in  this  way  before  ?" 

"  Often,"  answered  the  first  woman. 

".  But  will  never  be  again,"  added  the  second  one ; 
"  that  is,  she'll  never  wake  again  but  once — and 
mind,  mistress,  that  won't  be  for  long !" 

"  Long  or  short,"  said  the  matron,  snappishly,  "  she 
won't  find  me  here  when  she  does  wake ;  take  care, 
both  of  you,  how  you  worry  me  again  for  nothing. 
It's  no  part  of  my  duty  to  see  all  the  old  women  in 
the  house  die,  and  I  won't — that's  more.  Mind  that, 
you  impudent  old  harridans !  If  yovi  make  a  fool  of 
me  again,  I'll  soon  cure  you,  I  warrant  you !" 

She  was  bouncing  away,  when  a  cry  from  the  two 
women,  who  had  turned  toward  the  bed,  caused  her 
to  look  round.  The  patient  had  raised  herself  up 
right,  and  was  stretching  her  arms  toward  them. 

"  Who's  that  ?"  she  cried,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  Hush,  hush !"  said  one  of  the  women,  stooping 
over  her.  "  Lie  down,  lie  down !" 

"  I'll  never  lie  down  again  alive !"  said  the  woman, 
struggling.  " I  will  tell  her !  Come  here!  Nearer! 
Let  me  whisper  in  your  ear." 

She  clutched  the  matron  by  the  arm,  and  forcing  her 
into  a  chair  by  the  bedside,  was  aboxit  to  speak,  when, 
looking  round,  she  caught  sight  of  the  two  old  women 
bending  forward  in  the  attitude  of  eager  listeners. 

"  Turn  them  away,"  said  the  woman,  drowsily ; 
"  make  haste !  make  haste !" 


The  two  old  crones,  chiming  in  together,  began 
pouring  out  many  piteous  lamentations  that  the  poor 
dear  was  too  far  gone  to  know  her  best  friends ;  and 
were  uttering  sundry  protestations  that  they  would 
never  leave  her,  when  the  superior  pushed  them  from 
the  room,  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  the  bed 
side.  On  being  excluded,  the  old  ladies  changed 
their  tone,  and  cried  through  the  key-hole  that  old 
Sally  was  drunk ;  whicli,  indeed,  was  not  unlikely ; 
since,  in  addition  to  a  moderate  dose  of  opium  pre 
scribed  by  the  apothecary,  she  was  laboring  under 
the  effects  of  a  final  taste  of  giu-and-water  which 
had  been  privily  administered,  in  the  openness  of 
their  hearts,  by  the  worthy  old  ladies  themselves. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  said  the  dying  woman  aloud, 
as  if  making  a  great  effort  to  revive  one  latent  spark 
of  energy.  "  In  this  very  room — in  this  very  bed — 
I  once  nursed  a  pretty  young  creetur  that  was 
brought  into  the  house  with  her  feet  cut  and  bruised 
with  walking,  and  all  soiled  with  dust  and  blood. 
She  gave  birth  to  a  boy,  and  died.  Let  me  think — 
what  was  the  year  again  ?" 

"  Never  mind  the  year,"  said  the  impatient  audi 
tor  ;  "  what  about  her  ?" 

"Ay,"  murmured  the  sick  woman,  relapsing  into 
her  former  drowsy  state,  "  what  about  her  ?- — what 
about — I  know !"  she  cried,  jumping  fiercely  up ;  her 
face  flushed,  and  her  eyes  starting  from  her  head — 
"  I  robbed  her,  so  I  did !  She  wasn't  cold  —  I  tell 
you  she  wasn't  cold,  when  I  stole  it !" 

"  Stole  what,  for  God's  sake  ?"  cried  the  matron, 
with  a  gesture  as  if  she  would  call  for  help. 

"It!"  replied  the  woman,  laying  her  hand  over 
the  other's  mouth.  "  The  only  thing  she  had.  She 
wanted  clothes  to  keep  her  warm,  and  food  to  eat ; 
but  she  had  kept  it  safe,  and  had  it  in  her  bosom. 
It  was  gold,  I  tell  you !  Rich  gold,  that  might  have 
saved  her  life !" 

"Gold!"  echoed  the  matron,  bending  eagerly  over 
the  woman  as  she  fell  back.  "  Go  on,  go  on — yes — 
what  of  it  ?  Who  was  the  mother  ?  When  was  it  ?" 

"  She  charged  me  to  keep  it  safe,"  replied  the  wom 
an  with  a  groan,  "  and  trusted  me  as  the  only  woman 
about  her.  I  stole  it  in  my  heart  when  she  first 
showed  it  me  hanging  round  her  neck ;  and  the 
child's  death,  perhaps,  is  on  me  besides !  They  would 
have  treated  him  better  if  they  had  known  it  all !" 

"  Known  what  ?"  asked  the  other.     "  Speak !" 

"  The  boy  grew  so  like  his  mother,"  said  the  wom 
an,  rambling  on,  and  not  heeding  the  question, 
"  that  I  could  never  forget  it  when  I  saw  his  face. 
Poor  girl !  poor  girl !  She  was  so  young,  too !  Such 
a  gentle  lamb !  Wait ;  there's  more  to  tell.  I  have 
not  told  you  all,  have  I  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  replied  the  matron,  inclining  her  head  to 
catch  the  words,  as  they  came  more  faintly  from  the 
dying  woman.  "  Be  quick,  or  it  may  be  too  late !" 

"  The  mother,"  said  the  woman,  making  a  more 
violent  effort  than  before;  "the  mother,  when  the 
pains  of  death  first  came  upon  her,  whispered  in  my 
ear  that  if  her  baby  was  bom  alive,  and  thrived,  the 
day  might  come  when  it  would  not  feel  so  much  dis 
graced  to  hear  its  poor  young  mother  named.  'And 
oh,  kind  Heaven!'  she  said,  folding  her  thin  hands 
together,  '  whether  it  be  boy  or  girl,  raise  up  some 
friends  for  it  in  this  troubled  world,  and  take  pity 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


upon  a  lonely,  desolate  child,  abandoned  to  its  mer 
cy!"' 

"  The  boy's  name  I"  demanded  the  matron. 

"  They  called  him  Oliver,"  replied  the  woman,  fee 
bly.  "  The  gold  I  stole  was — " 

"  Yes,  yes — what  ?"  cried  the  other. 

She  was  bending  eagerly  over  the  woman  to  hear 
her  reply ;  but  drew  back,  instinctively,  as  she  once 
again  rose,  slowly  and  stiffly,  ^uto  a  sitting  posture  ; 
then,  clutching  the  coverlid  with  both  hands,  mut 
tered  some  indistinct  sounds  in  her  throat,  and  fell 

lifeless  on  the  bed. 

****** 

"  Stone  dead !"  said  one  of  the  old  women,  hurry 
ing  in  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened. 

"And  nothing  to  tell,  after  all,"  rejoined  the  mat 
ron,  walking  carelessly  away. 

The  two  crones,  to  all  appearance  too  busily  oc 
cupied  in  the  preparations  for  their  dreadful  duties 
to  make  any  reply,  were  left  alone,  hovering  about 
the  body. 


CHAPTER  X£V. 

WHEREIN    THIS    HISTORY    REVERTS    TO    ME.   PAGIN    AND 
COMPANY: 

WHILE  these  things  were  passing  in  the  country 
work-house,  Mr.  Fagiu  sat  in  the  old  den — the 
same  from  which  Oliver  had  been  removed  by  the 
girl — brooding  over  a  dull,  smoky  fire.  He  held  a 
pair  of  bellows  upon  his  knee,  with  which  he  had  ap 
parently  been  endeavoring  to  rouse  it  into  more  cheer 
ful  action ;  but  he  had  fallen  into  deep  thought ;  and 
with  his  arms  folded  on  them,  and  his  chin  resting 
on  his  'thumbs,  fixed  his  eyes  abstractedly  on  the 
rusty  bars. 

At  a  table  behind  him  sat  the  Artful  Dodger,  Mas 
ter  Charles  Bates,  and  Mr.  Chitliug,  all  intent  upon 
a  game  of  whist ;  the  Artful  taking  dummy  against 
Master  Bates  and  Mr.  Chitling.  The  countenance  of 
the  first-named  gentleman,  peculiarly  intelligent  at 
all  times,  acquired  great  additional  interest  from  his 
close  observance  of  the  game,  and  his  attentive  pe 
rusal  of  Mr.  Chitling's  hand  ;  upon  which,  from  time 
to  time,  as  occasion  served,  he  bestowed  a  variety  of 
earnest  glances :  wisely  regulating  his  own  play  by 
the  result  of  his  observations  upon  his  neighbor's 
cards.  It  being  a  cold  night,  the  Dodger  wore  his 
hat,  as,  indeed,  was  often  his  custom  within  doors. 
He  also  sustained  a  clay  pipe  between  his  teeth, 
which  he  only  removed  for  a  brief  space  when  he 
deemed  it  necessary  to  apply  for  refreshment  to  a 
quart  pot  upon  the  table,  which  stood  ready  filled 
with  gin -and -water  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
company. 

Master  Bates  was  also  attentive  to  the  play ;  but 
being  of  a  more  excitable  nature  than  his  accom 
plished  friend,  it  was  observable  that  he  more  fre 
quently  applied  himself  to  the  gin-and-water,  and 
moreover  indulged  in  many  jests  and  irrelevant  re 
marks,  all  highly  unbecoming  a  scientific  rubber. 
Indeed,  the  Artful,  presuming  upon  their  close  at 
tachment,  more  than  once  took  occasion  to  reason 
gravely  with  his  companion  upon  these  improprie 
ties  :  all  of  which  remonstrances  Master  Bates  re 


ceived  in  extremely  good  part ;  merely  requesting 
his  friend  to  be  "  Mowed,"  or  to  insert  his  head  in  a 
sack,  or  replying  with  some  other  neatly-turned  wit 
ticism  of  a  similar  kind,  the  happy  application  of 
which  excited  considerable  admiration  in  the  mind 
of  Mr.  Chitling.  It  was  remarkable  that  the  latter 
gentleman  and  his  partner  invariably  lost ;  and  that 
the  circumstance,  so  far  from  angering  Master  Bates, 
appeared  to  afford  him  the  highest  amusement,  inas 
much  as  he  laughed  most  uproariously  at  the  end  of 
every  deal,  and  protested  that  he  had  never  seen  such 
a  jolly  game  in  all  his  born  days. 

"  That's  two  doubles  and  the  rub,"  said  Mr.  Chit- 
ling,  with  a  very  long  face,  as  he  drew  half  a  crown 
from  his  waistcoat-pocket.  "  I  never  see  such  a  fel 
ler  as  you,  Jack  ;  you  win  every  thing.  Even  when 
we've  good  cards,  Charley  and  I  can't  make  nothing 
of  'em." 

Either  the  matter  or  the  manner  of  this  remark, 
which  was  made  very  ruefully,  delighted  Charley 
Bates  so  much,  that  his  consequent  shout  of  laugh 
ter  roused  the  Jew  from  his  reverie,  and  induced 
him  to  inquire  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Matter,  Fagiu !"  cried  Charley.  "  I  wish  you 
had  watched  the  play.  Tommy  Chitling  hasn't  won 
a  point ;  and  I  went  partners  with  him  against  the 
Artful  and  dum  " 

"Ay,  ay!"  said  the  Jew,  with  a  grin,  which  suffi 
ciently  demonstrated  that  he  was  at  no  loss  to  un 
derstand  the  reason.  "  Try  'em  again,  Tom ;  try  'em 
again." 

"No  more  of  it  for  me,  thankee,  Fagin,"  replied 
Mr.  Chitling ;  "  I've  had  enough.  That  'ere  Dodger 
has  such  a  run  of  luck  that  there's  no  standing  again' 
him." 

"  Ha !  ha !  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew,  "  you  must 
get  up  very  early  in  the  morning  to  win  against  the 
Dodger." 

"  Morning !"  said  Charley  Bates ;  "  you  must  put 
your  boots  on  over-night,  and  have  a  telescope  at 
each  eye,  and  a  opera-glass  between  your  shoulders, 
if  you  want  to  come  over  Mm." 

Mr.  Dawkins  received  these  handsome  compliments 
with  much  philosophy,  and  offered  to  cut  any  gentle 
man  in  company,  for  the  first  picture-card,  at  a  shil 
ling  a  time.  Nobody  accepting  the  challenge,  and 
his  pipe  being  by  this  time  smoked  out,  he  proceeded 
to  amuse  himself  by  sketching  a  ground-plan  of  New 
gate  on  the  table  with  the  piece  of  chalk  which  had 
served  him  in  lieu  of  counters ;  whistling  meantime, 
with  peculiar  shrillness. 

"  How  precious  dull  you  are,  Tommy !"  said  the 
Dodger,  stopping  short  when  there  had  been  a  long 
silence,  and  addressing  Mr.  Chitling.  "  What  do  you 
think  he's  thinking  of,  Fagin  ?" 

"How  should  I  know,  my  dear?"  replied  the  Jew, 
looking  round  as  he  plied  the  bellows.  "About  his 
losses,  maybe ;  or  the  little  retirement  in  the  coun 
try  that  he's  just  left,  eh  ?  Ha !  ha !  Is  that  it,  my 
dear?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  the  Dodger,  stopping  the 
subject  of  discourse  as  Mr.  Chitling  was  about  to  re 
ply.  "  What  do  you  say,  Charley  ?" 

"/should  say," replied  Master  Bates,  with  a  grin, 
"that  he  was  uncommon  sweet  upon  Betsy.  See 
how  he's  a-blushiug !  Oh,  my  eye !  here's  a  merry- 


THE  DODGER  AND  FAGIN. 


go-rounder !    Tommy  Chitliug's  hi  love !    Oh,  Fagin, 
Fagin  !  what  a  spree !" 

Thoroughly  overpowered  with  the  notion  of  Mr. 
Chilling  being  the  victim  of  the  tender  passion,  Mas 
ter  Bates  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  such 
violence  that  he  lost  his  balance  and  pitched  over 
npon  the  floor;  where  (the  accident  abating  nothing 
of  his  merriment)  he  lay  at  full  length  until  his 
laugh  was  over,  when  he  resumed  his  former  posi 
tion,  and  began  another  laugh. 

"  Never  mind  him,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew,  wink 
ing  at  Mr.  Dawkins,  and  giving  Master  Bates  a  re 
proving  tap  with  the  nozzle  of  the  bellows.  "  Bet 
sy's  a  fine  girl.  Stick  up  to  her,  Tom.  Stick  up  to 
lier." 

"  What  I  mean  to  say,  Fagin,"  replied  Mr.  Chitling, 
very  red  in  the  face,  "  is,  that  that  isn't  any  thing  to 
any  body  here." 

"  No  more  it  is,"  replied  the  Jew ;  "  Charley  will 
talk.  Don't  mind  him,  my  dear;  don't  mind  him. 
Betsy's  a  fine  girl.  Do  as  she  bids  you,  Tom,  and 
you'll  make  your  fortune.'' 

"  So  I  do  do  as  she  bids  me,"  replied  Mr.  Chitling ; 
"  I  shouldn't  have  been  milled,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
her  advice.  But  it  turned  out  a  good  job  for  you ; 
didn't  it,  Fagiu?  And  what's  six  weeks  of  it?  It 
must  come,  some  time  or  another,  and  why  not  in 
the  winter-time,  when  you  don't  want  to  go  out 
a-walking  so  much  ;  eh,  Fagin  ?" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew. 

"  You  wouldn't  mind  it  again,  Tom,  would  you," 
asked  the  Dodger,  winking  upon  Charley  and  the 
Jew,  "  if  Bet  was  all  right  ?" 

"I  mean  to  say  that  I  shouldn't,"  replied  Tom, 
angrily.  "There  now.  Ah!  Who'll  say  as  much 
as  that,  I  should  like  to  know ;  eh,  Fagin  ?" 

"  Nobody,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew ;  "  not  a  soul, 
Tom.  I  don't  know  one  of  'em  that  would  do  it  be 
sides  you ;  not  one  of  'em,  my  dear." 

"  I  might  have  got  clear  off,  if  I'd  split  upon  her ; 
mightn't  I,  Fagin  ?"  angrily  pursued  the  poor  half 
witted  dupe.  "A  word  from  me  would  have  done 
it ;  wouldn't  it,  Fagiu  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  it  would,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew. 

"  But  I  didn't  blab  it ;  did  I,  Fagin  ?"  demanded 
Tom,  pouring  question  upon  question  with  great 
volubility. 

"  No,  no,  to  be  sure,"  replied  the  Jew,  "  you  were 
too  stout-hearted  for  that.  A  deal  too  stout,  my 
dear !" 

"  Perhaps  I  was,"  rejoined  Tom,  looking  round ; 
"and  if  I  was,  what's  to  laugh  at  in  that;  eh,  Fa 
giu  ?" 

The  Jew,  perceiving  that  Mr.  Chitling  was  con 
siderably  roused,  hastened  to  assure  him  that  no 
body  was  laughing ;  and  to  prove  the  gravity  of  the 
company,  appealed  to  Master  Bates,  the  principal  of 
fender.     But,  unfortunately,  Charley,  in  opening  his  j 
mouth  to  reply  that  he  was  never  more  serious  in  ! 
his  life,  was  unable  to  prevent  the  escape  of  such  a  ' 
violent  roar,  that  the  abused  Mr.  Chitling,  without  \ 
any  preliminary  ceremonies,  rushed  across  the  room  ' 
and  aimed  a  blow  at  the  offender ;  who,  being  skill 
ful  in  evading  pursuit,  ducked  to  avoid  it,  and  chose 
liis  time  so  well  that  it  lighted  on  the  chest  of  the 
merry  old  gentleman,  and  caused  him  to  stagger  to 


the  wall,  where  he  stood  panting  for  breath,  while 
Mr.  Chitling  looked  on  in  intense  dismay. 

"  Hark !"  cried  the  Dodger  at  this  moment,  I  heard 
the  tinkler."  Catching  up  the  light,  he  crept  softly 
up  stairs. 

The  bell  was  rung  again,  with  some  impatience, 
while  the  party  were  in  darkness.'  After  a  short 
pause,  the  Dodger  reappeared,  and  whispered  Fagin 
mysteriously. 

"  What !"  cried  the  Jew,  «  alone  ?'" 

The  Dodger  nodded  in  the  affirmative,  and  shad 
ing  the  flame  of  the  candle  with  his  hand,  gave 
Charley  Bates  a  private  intimation,  in  dumb  show, 
that  he  had  better  not  be  funny  just  then.  Having 
performed  this  friendly  office,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on 
the  Jew's  face,  and  awaited  his  directions. 

The  old  man  bit  his  yellow  fingers,  and  meditated 
for  some  seconds ;  his  face  working  with  agitation 
the  while,  as  if  he  dreaded  something,  and  feared  to 
know  the  worst.  At  length  he  raised  his  head. 

"  Where  is  he  f  he  asked. 

The  Dodger  pointed  to  the  floor  above,  and  made 
a  gesture,  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Jew,  answering  the  mute  inquiry ; 
"bring  him  down.  Hush!  Quiet,  Charley!  Gen 
tly,  Tom !  Scarce,  scarce !" 

This  brief  direction  to  Charley  Bates,  and  his  re 
cent  antagonist,  was  softly  and  immediately  obeyed. 
There  was  no  sound  of  their  whereabout  when  the 
Dodger  descended  the  stairs,  bearing  the  light  in 
his  hand,  and  followed  by  a  man  in  a  coarse  smock- 
frock  ;  who,  after  casting  a  hurried  glance  round 
the  room,  pulled  off  a  large  wrapper  which  had  con 
cealed  the  lower  portion  of  his  face,  and  disclosed, 
all  haggard,  unwashed,  and  unshorn,  the  features  of 
flash  Toby  Crackit. 

"  How  are  you,  Faguey  ?"  said  this  worthy,  nod 
ding  to  the  Jew.  "  Pop  that  shawl  away  in  my 
castor,  Dodger,  so  that  I  may  know  where  to  find  it 
when  I  cut;  that's  the  time  of  day!  You'll  be  a 
fine  young  cracksman  afore  the  old  file  now." 

With  these  words  he  pulled  up  the  smock-frock, 
and,  winding  it  round  his  middle,, drew  a  chair  to 
the  fire,  and  placed  his  feet  upon  the  hob. 

"  See  there,  Faguey,"  he  said,  pointing  disconso 
lately  to  his  top-boots ;  "  not  a  drop  of  Day  and  Mar 
tin  since,  you  know  when ;  not  a  bubble  of  blacking, 
by  Jove!  But  don't  look  at  me  in  that  way,  man. 
All  in  good  time.  I  can't  talk  about  business  till 
I've  eat  and  drank  ;  so  produce  the  sustainance,  and 
let's  have  a  quiet  fill-out  for  the  first  time  these 
three  days !" 

The  Jew  motioned  to  the  Dodger  to  place  what  eat 
ables  there  were  upon  the  table ;  and,  seating  him 
self  opposite  the  house-breaker,  waited  his  leisure. 

To  judge  from  appearances,  Toby  was  by  no  means 
in  a  hurry  to  open  the  conversation.  At  first,  the 
Jew  contented  himself  with  patiently  watching  his 
countenance,  as  if  to  gain  from  its  .expression  some 
clue  to  the  intelligence  he  brought;  but  in  vain. 
He  looked  tired  and  worn,  but  there  was  the  same 
complacent  repose  upon  his  features  that  they  al 
ways  wore ;  and  through  dirt,  and  beard,  and  whis 
ker,  there  still  shone,  unimpaired^  the  self-satisfied 
smirk  of  flash  Toby  Crackit.  Then  the  Jew,  in  an 
agony  of  impatience,  watched  every  morsel  he  put 


80 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


into  his  mouth;  pacing  np  and  down  the  room, 
meanwhile,  in  irrepressible  excitement.  It  was  all 
of  no  nse.  Toby  continued  to  eat,  with  the  utmost 
outward  indifference,  until  he  could  .eat  no  more ; 
then,  ordering  the  Dodger  out,  he  closed  the  door, 
mixed  a  glass  of  spirits-and-water,  and  composed 
himself  for  talking. 

"  First  and  foremost,  Faguey — "  said  Toby. 

"Yes,  yes!"  interposed  the  Jew,  drawing  up  his 
chair. 

Mr.  Crackit  stopped  to  take  a  draught  of  spirits- 
and-water,  and  to  declare  that  the  gin  was  excellent ; 
then,  placing  his  feet  against  the  low  mantel-piece, 
so  as  to  bring  his  boots  to  about  the  level  of  his  eye, 
he  quietly  resumed. 

"First  and  foremost,  Faguey,"  said  the  house 
breaker,  "  how's  Bill  ?" 

"  What !"  screamed  the  Jew,  starting  from  his  seat. 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say — "  began  Toby, 
turning  pale. 

"  Mean !"  cried  the  Jew,  stamping  furiously  on  the 
ground.  "Where  are  they  —  Sikes  and  the  boy? 
*  Where  are  they  ?  Where  have  they  been  ?  Where 
are  they  hiding  ?  Why  have  they  iiot  been  here  ?" 

"  The  crack  failed,"  said  Toby,  faintly. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  Jew,  tearing  a  newspaper 
from  his  pocket,  and  pointing  to  it.  "  What  more  f ' 

"They  fired  and  hit  the  boy.  We  cut  over  the 
fields  at  the  back  with  him  between  us — straight  as 
the  crow  flies  —  through  hedge  and  ditch.  They 
gave  chase.  Damme !  the  whole  country  was  awake, 
and  the  dogs  upon  us." 

"The  boy?" 

"  Bill  had  him  on  his  back,  and  scudded  like  the 
wind.  We  stopped  to  take  him  between  us;  his 
head  Imng  down,  and  he  was  cold.  They  were  close 
upon  our  heels;  every  man  for  himself,  and  each 
from  the  gallows!  We  parted  company,  and  left 
the  youngster  lying  in  a  ditch.  Alive  or  dead,  that's 
all  I  know  about  him." 

The  Jew  stopped  to  hear  no  more ;  but  uttering  a 
loud  yell,  and  twining  his  hands  in  his  hair,  rushed 
from  the  room  and  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN  WHICH  A  MYSTERIOUS  CHARACTER  APPEARS  UPON  THE 
SCENE;  AND  MANY  THINGS  INSEPARABLE  FROM  THIS 
HISTORY  ARE  DONE  AND  PERFORMED. 

THE  old  man  had  gained  the  street  corner  before 
he  began  to  recover  the  effect  of  Toby  Crackit's 
intelligence.  He  had  relaxed  nothing  of  his  unusual 
speed ;  but  was  still  pressing  onward,  in  the  same 
wild  and  disordered  manner,  when  the  sudden  dash 
ing  past  of  a  carriage,  and  a  boisterous  cry  from  the 
foot-passengers,  who  saw  his  danger,  drove  him  back 
upon  the  pavement.  Avoiding  as  much  as  possible 
all  the  main  streets,  and  skulking  only  through  the 
by-ways  and  alleys,  he  at  length  emerged  on  Snow 
Hill.  Here  he  walked  even  faster  than  before ;  nor 
did  he  linger  until  he  had  again  turned  into  a  court ; 
when,  as  if  conscious  that  he  was  now  in  his  proper 
element,  he  fell  into  his  usual  shuffling  pace,  and 
seemed  to  breathe  more  freely. 


Near  to  the  spot  on  which  Snow  Hill  and  Holborn 
Hill  meet,  there  opens,  upon  the  right  hand  as  you 
come  out  of  the  City,  a  narrow  and  dismal  alley  lead 
ing  to  Saffron  Hill.  In  its  filthy  shops  are  exposed 
for  sale  huge  bunches  of  second-hand  silk  handker 
chiefs,  of  all  sizes  and  patterns ;  for  here  reside  the 
traders  who  purchase  them  from  pickpockets.  Hun 
dreds  of  these  handkerchiefs  hang  dangling  from 
pegs  outside  the  windows  or  flaunting  from  the  door 
posts;  and  the  shelves  within  are  piled  with  them. 
Confined  as  the  limits  of  Field  Lane  are,  it  has  its 
barber,  its  coffee-shop,  its  beer-shop,  and  its  fried-fish 
warehouse.  It  is  a  commercial  colony  of  itself:  the 
emporium  of  petty  larceny :  visited  at  early  morn 
ing,  and  setting-ill  of  dusk,  by  silent  merchants,  who 
traffic  in  dark  back-parlors,  and  who  go  as  strangely 
as  they  come.  Here  the  clothesman,  the  shoe-varnp- 
er,  and  the  rag-merchant,  display  their  goods  as  sign 
boards  to  the  petty  thief;  here  stores  of  old  iron  and 
bones,  and  heaps  of  mildewy  fragments  of  woolen- 
stuff  and  linen,  rust  and  rot  in  the  grimy  cellars. 

It  was  into  this  place  that  the  Jew  turned.  He 
was  well  known  to  the  sallow  denizens  of  the  lane  ; 
for  such  of  them  as  were  on  the  look-out  to  buy  or 
sell,  nodded  familiarly  as  he  passed  along.  He  re 
plied  to  their  salutations  in  the  same  way ;  but  be 
stowed  no  closer  recognition  imtil  he  reached  the 
farther  end  of  the  alley,  Avhen  he  stopped  to  address 
a  salesman  of  small  stature,  who  had  squeezed  ;:s 
much  of  his  person  into  a  child's  chair  as  the  chair 
would  hold,  and  was  smoking  a  pipe  at  his  ware 
house  door. 

"  Why,  the  sight  of  you,  Mr.  Fagin,  would  cure  the 
hoptalmy !"  said  this  respectable  trader,  in  acknowl 
edgment  of  the  Jew's  inquiry  after  his  health. 

"  The  neighborhood  was  a  little  too  hot,  Lively," 
said  Fagin,  elevating  his  eyebrows,  and  crossing  his 
hands  upon  his  shoulders. 

"Well,  I've  heerd  that  complaint  of  it  once  or 
twice  before,"  replied  the  trader ;  "  but  it  soon  cools 
down  again  ;  don't  you  find  it  so  ?" 

Fagin  nodded  in  the  affirmative.  Pointing  in  the 
direction  of  Saffron  Hill,  he  inquired  whether  any 
one  was  up  yonder  to-night. 

"  At  the  Cripples  ?"  inquired  the  man. 

The  Jew  nodded. 

"Let  me  see,"  pursued  the  merchant,  reflecting. 
"  Yes,  there's  some  half  dozen  of  'em  gone  in,  that  I 
knows.  I  don't  think  your  friend's  there." 

"  Sikes  is  not,  I  suppose?"  inquired  the  Jew,  witli 
a  disappointed  countenance. 

" Xon  istwentus,  as  the  lawyers  say,"  replied  the  lit 
tle  man,  shaking  his  head,  and  looking  amazingly 
sly.  "  Have  you  got  any  thing  in  my  line  to-night  I" 

"  Nothing  to-night,"  said  the  Jew,  turning  away. 

"Are  you  going  up  to  The  Cripples,  Fagiu?"  cried 
the  little  man,  calling  after  him.  "  Stop !  I  don't 
mind  if  I  have  a  drop  there  with  you." 

But  as  the  Jew,  looking  back,  waved  his  hand  to 
intimate  that  he  preferred  being  alone,  and,  more 
over,  as  the  little  man  could  not  very  easily  disen 
gage  himself  from  the  chair,  the  sign  of  The  Cripples 
was  for  a  time  bereft  of  the  advantage  of  Mr.  Live- 
ly's  presence.  By  the  time  he  had  got  upon  his  legs 
the  Jew  had  disappeared ;  so  Mr.  Lively,  after  inef 
fectually  standing  on  tiptoe,  in  the  hope  of  catch- 


FAGIN  AMONG  HIS  DEVOTED  SERVANTS. 


81 


ing  sight  of  him,  again  forced  himself  into  the  little 
chair,  and,  exchanging  a  shake  of  the  head  with  a 
lady  in  the  opposite  shop,  in  which  doubt  and  mis- 
t  rust  were  plainly  mingled,  resumed  his  pipe  with  a 
grave  demeanor. 

The  Three  Cripples,  or  rather  The  Cripples,  which 
was  the  sign  by  which  the  establishment  was  famil 
iarly  known  to  its  patrons,  was  the  public-house  in 
which  Mr.  Sikes  and  his  dog  have  already  figured. 
Merely  making  a  sign  to  a  man  at  the  bar,  Fagin 
walked  straight  up  stairs,  and  opening  the  door  of  a 
room,  and  softly  insinuating  himself  into  the  cham 
ber,  looked  anxiously  about — shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  as  if  in  search  of  some  particular  person. 

The  room  was  illuminated  by  two  gas-lights ;  the 
glare  of  which  was  prevented,  by  the  barred  shut 
ters  and  closely-drawn  curtains  of  faded  red,  from 
being  visible  outside.  The  ceiling  was  blackened, 
to  prevent  its  color  from  being  injured  by  the  flar 
ing  of  the  lamps ;  and  the  place  was  so  full  of  dense 
tobacco  smoke,  that  at  first  it  was  scarcely  possible 
to  discern  any  thing  more.  By  degrees,  however,  as 
some  of  it  cleared  away  through  the  open  door,  an 
assemblage  of  heads,  as  confused  as  the  noises  that 
greeted  the  ear,  might  be  made  out ;  and  as  the  eye 
grew  more  accustomed  to  the  scene,  the  spectator 
gradually  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  a  numer 
ous  company,  male  and  female,  crowded  round  a 
long  table,  at  the  upper  end  of  which  sat  a  chair 
man,  with  a  hammer  of  office  in  his  hand;  while  a 
professional  gentleman,  with  a  bluish  nose,  and  his 
face  tied  up  for  the  benefit  of  a  toothache,  presided 
at  a  jingling  piano  in  a  remote  corner. 

As  Fagin  stepped  softly  in,  the  professional  gen 
tleman,  running  over  the  keys  by  way  of  prelude, 
occasioned  a  general  cry  of  order  for  a  song ;  which 
having  subsided,  a  young  lady  proceeded  to  enter 
tain  the  company  with  a  ballad  in  four  verses,  be 
tween  each  of  which  the  accompanyist  played  the 
melody  all  through,  as  loud  as  he  could.  When  this 
was  over,  the  chairman  gave  a  sentiment,  after  which 
the  professional  gentlemen  on  the  chairman's  right 
and  left  volunteered  a  duet,  and  sang  it  with  great 
applause. 

It  was  curious  to  observe  some  faces  which  stood 
out  prominently  from  among  the  group.  There  was 
the  chairman  himself  (the  landlord  of  the  house),  a 
coarse,  rough,  heavy -built  fellow,  who,  while  the 
songs  were  proceeding,  rolled  his  eyes  hither  and 
thither,  and,  seeming  to  give  himself  up  to  joviality, 
had  an  eye  for  every  thing  that  was  done,  and  an 
ear  for  every  thing  that  was  said — and  sharp  ones, 
too.  Near  him  were  the  singers,  receiving  with  pro 
fessional  indifference  the*  compliments  of  the  com 
pany,  and  applying  themselves,  in  turn,  to  a  dozen 
proffered  glasses  of  spirits-and-water,  tendered  by 
their  more  boisterous  admirers,  whose  countenances, 
expressive  of  almost  every  vice,  in  almost  every 
grade,  irresistibly  attracted  the  attention  by  their 
very  repulsiveness.  Cunning,  ferocity,  and  drunk 
enness  in  all  its  stages,  were  there  in  their  strongest 
aspects;  and  women,  some  with  the  last  lingering 
tinge  of  their  early  freshness  almost  fading  as  you 
looked ;  others  with  every  mark  and  stamp  of  their 
sex  utterly  beaten  out.  and  presenting  but  one  loath 
some  blank  of  profligacy  and  crime ;  some  mere  girls, 
F 


others  but  young  women,  and  none  past  the  prime 
of  life ;  formed  the  darkest  and  saddest  portion  of 
this  dreary  picture. 

Fagin,  troubled  by  no  grave  emotions,  looked  ea 
gerly  from  face  to  face  while  these  proceedings  were 
in  progress,  but  apparently  without  meeting  that  of 
which  he  was  in  search.  Succeeding  at  length  in 
catching  the  eye  of  the  man  who  occupied  the  chair, 
he  beckoned  to  him  slightly,  and  left  the  room  as 
quietly  as  he  had  entered  it. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Fagin  ?"  inquired  the 
man,  as  he  followed  him  out  to  the  landing.  "Won't 
you  join  us  ?  They'll  be  delighted,  every  one  of 'em." 

The  Jew  shook  his  head  impatiently,  and  said,  in  a 
whisper,  "  Is  lie  here  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  man. 

"And  no  news  of  Barney  ?"  inquired  Fagin. 

tf  None,"  replied  the  landlord  of  The  Cripples ;  for 
it  was  he.  "  He  won't  stir  till  it's  all  safe.  Depend 
on  it,  they're  on  the  scent  down  there ;  and  that  if 
he  moved,  he'd  blow  upon  the  thing  at  once.  He's 
all  right  enough,  Barney  is,  else  I  should  have  heard 
of  him.  I'll  pound  it,  that  Barney's  managing  prop 
erly.  Let  him  alone  for  that !" 

"  Will  he  be  here  to-night  ?"  asked  the  Jew,  laying 
the  same  emphasis  on  the  pronoun  as  before. 

"Monks,  do  you  mean?"  inquired  the  landlord, 
hesitating. 

"  Hush !"  said  the  Jew.     "  Yes." 

"  Certain,"  replied  the  man,  drawing  a  gold  watch 
from  his  fob ;  "  I  expected  him  here  before  now.  If 
you'll  wait  ten  minutes,  he'll  be — " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  Jew,  hastily ;  as  though,  how 
ever  desirous  he  might  be  to  see  the  person  in  ques 
tion,  he  was  nevertheless  relieved  by  his  absence. 
"  Tell  him  I  came  here  to  see  him ;  and  that  he  must 
come  to  me  to-night.  No,  say  to-morrow.  As  he  is 
not  here,  to-morrow  will  be  time  enough." 

"  Good !"  said  the  man.     "  Nothing  more  ?" 

"  Not  a  word  now,"  said  the  Jew,  descending  the 
stairs. 

"  I  say,"  said  the  other,  looking  over  the  rails,  and 
speaking  in  a  hoarse  whisper ;  "  what  a  time  this 
would  be  for  a  sell !  I've  got  Phil  Barker  here,  so 
drunk  that  a  boy  might  take  him." 

"Aha!,  But  it's  not  Phil  Barker's  time,"  said  the 
Jew,  looking  up.  "  Phil  has  something  more  to  do 
before  we  can  afford  to  part  with  him ;  so  go  back 
to  the  company,  my  dear,  and  tell  them  to  lead  mer 
ry  lives — while  they  last.  Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

The  landlord  reciprocated  the  old  man's  laugh, 
and  returned  to  his  guests.  The  Jew  was  no  sooner 
alone,  than  his  countenance  resumed  its  former  ex 
pression  of  anxiety  and  thought.  After  a  brief  re 
flection,  he  called  a  hack  cabriolet,  and  bade  the 
man  drive  toward  Betlmal  Green.  He  dismissed 
him  within  some  quarter  of  a  mile  of  Mr.  Sikes's 
residence,  and  performed  the  short  remainder  of  the 
distance  on  foot. 

"  Now,"  muttered  the  Jew,  as  he  knocked  at  the 
door,  "  if  there  is  any  deep  play  here,  I  shall  have  it 
out  of  you,  niy  girl,  cunning  as  you  are." 

She  was  in  her  room,  the  \vomau  said.  Fagin  crept 
softly  up  stairs,  and  entered  it  without  any  previous 
ceremony.  The  girl  was  alone ;  lying  with  her  head 
upon  the  table,  and  her  hair  straggling  over  it. 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


"  She  has  beeii  drinking,"  thought  the  Jew,  coolly, 
"  or  perhaps  she  is  only  miserable." 

The  old  man  turned  to  close  the  door  as  he  made 
this  reflection ;  the  noise  thus  occasioned  roused  the 
girl.  She  eyed  his  crafty  face  narrowly  as  she  in 
quired  whether  there  was  any  news,  and  as  she  list 
ened  to  his  recital  of  Toby  Crackit's  story.  When 
it  was  concluded,  she  sank  into  her  former  attitude, 
but  spoke  not  a  word.  She  pushed  the  candle  im 
patiently  away ;  and  once  or  twice,  as  she  feverish 
ly  changed  her  position,  shuffled  her  feet  upon  the 
ground ;  but  this  was  all. 

During  the  silence,  the  Jew  looked  restlessly  about 
the  room,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  there  were  no 
appearances  of  Sikes  having  covertly  returned.  Ap 
parently  satisfied  with  his  inspection,  he  coughed 
twice  or  thrice,  and  made  as  many  efforts  to  open  a 
conversation ;  but  the  girl  heeded  him  no  more  than 
if  he  had  been  made  of  stone.  At  length  he  made 
another  attempt;  and  rubbing  his  hands  together, 
said,  in  his  most  conciliatory  tone, 

"And  where  should  you  think  Bill  was  now,  my 
dear?" 

The  girl  moaned  out  some  half  intelligible  reply 
that  she  could  not  tell ;  and  seemed,  from  the  smoth 
ered  noise  that  escaped  her,  to  be  crying. 

"And  the  boy,  too,"  said  the  Jew,  straining  his 
eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  face.  ".  Poor  leetle 
child !  Left  in  a  ditch,  Nance ;  only  think !" 

"The  child!"  said  the  girl,  suddenly  looking  up, 
"  is  better  where  he  is  than  among  us ;  and  if  no 
harm  comes  to  Bill  from  it,  I  hope  he  lies  dead  in  the 
ditch,  and  that  his  young  bones  may  rot  there." 

"  What !"  cried  the  Jew,  in  amazement. 

"Ay,  I  do,"  returned  the  girl,  meeting  his  gaze. 
"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  him  away  from  my  eyes, 
and  to  know  that  the  worst  is  over.  I  can't  bear 
to  have  him  about  me.  The  sight  of  him  turns  me 
against  myself,  and  all  of  you." 

"  Pooh !"  said  the  Jew,  scornfully.    "  You're  drunk." 

"Ami?"  cried  the  girl,  bitterly.  "It's  no  fault 
of  yours,  if  I  am  not !  You'd  never  have  me  any 
thing  else,  if  you  had  your  will,  except  now ; — the 
humor  doesn't  suit  you,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"  No !"  rejoined  the  Jew,  furiously.     "  It  does  not." 

"Change  it,  then!"  responded  the  girl,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Change  it !"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  exasperated  be 
yond  all  bounds  by  his  companion's  unexpected  ob 
stinacy,  and  the  vexation  of  the  night.  "  I  WILL 
change  it !  Listen  to  me,  you  drab !  Listen  to  me, 
who  with  six  words  can  strangle  Sikes  as  surely  as 
if  I  had  his  bull's  throat  between  my  fingers  now. 
If  he  comes  back,  and  leaves  the  boy  behind  him — if 
he  gets  off"  free,  and,  dead  or  alive,  fails  to  restore  him 
to  me — murder  him  yourself  if  you  would  have  him 
escape  Jack  Ketch.  And  do  it  the  moment  he  sets 
foot  in  this  room,  or,  mind  me,  it  will  be  too  late !" 

"  What  is  all  this  ?"  cried  the  girl,  involuntarily. 

"What  is  it?"  pursued  Fagiu,  mad  with  rage. 
"  When  the  boy's  worth  hundreds  of  pounds  to  me, 
am  I  to  lose  what  chance  threw  me  in  the  way  of 
getting  safely,  through  the  whims  of  a  drunken  gang 
that  I  could  whistle  away  the  lives  of?  And  me 
bound,  too,  to  a  born  devil  that  only  wants  the  will, 
and  has  the  power  to,  to — " 


Panting  for  breath,  the  old  man  stammered  for  a 
word  ;  and  in  that  instant  checked  the  torrent  of  his 
wrath,  and  changed  his  whole  demeanor.  A  moment 
before,  his  clenched  hands  had  grasped  the  air,  his 
eyes  had  dilated,  and  his  face  grown  livid  with  pas 
sion  ;  but  now  he  shrunk  into  a  chair,  and,  cowering 
together,  trembled  with  the  apprehension  of  having 
himself  disclosed  some  hidden  villainy.  After  a 
short  silence,  he  ventured  to  look  round  at  his  com 
panion.  He  appeared  somewhat  reassured,  on  be 
holding  her  in  the  same  listless  attitude  from  which 
he  had  first  roused  her. 

"  Nancy,  dear !"  croaked  the  Jew  in  his  usual  voice. 
"  Did  you  mind  me,  dear  ?" 

"Don't  worry  me  now,  Fagiu!"  replied  the  girl, 
raising  her  head  languidly.  "  If  Bill  has  not  done 
it  this  time,  he  will  another.  He  has  done  many  a 
good  job  for  you,  and  Avill  do  many  more  when  he 
can ;  and  when  he  can't  he  won't ;  so  no  more  about 
that." 

"  Regarding  this  boy,  my  dear  ?"  said  the  Jew,  rub 
bing  the  palms  of  his  hands  nervously  together. 

"The  boy  must  take  his  chance  with  the  rest,"  in 
terrupted  Nancy,  hastily ;  "  and  I  say  again,  I  hope 
he  is  dead,  and  out  of  harm's  way,  and  out  of  yours 
— that  is,  if  Bill  comes  to  no  harm.  And  if  Toby 
got  clear  oif,  Bill's  pretty  sure  to  be  safe ;  for  Bill's 
worth  two  of  Toby  any  time." 

"And  about  what  I  was  saying,  my  dear?"  ob 
served  the  Jew,  keeping  his  glistening  eye  steadily 
upon  her. 

"  You  must  say  it  all  over  again,  if  it's  any  thing 
you  want  me  to  do,"  rejoined  Nancy;  "and  if  it  is, 
you  had  better  wait  till  to-morrow.  You  put  mo  up 
for  a  minute ;  but  now  I'm  stupid  again." 

Fagin  put  several  other  questions,  all  with  the 
same  drift  of  ascertaining  whether  the  girl  had  prof 
ited  by  his  unguarded  hints ;  but  she  answered  them 
so  readily,  and  was  withal  so  utterly  unmoved  by  liis 
searching  looks,  that  his  original  impression  of  her 
being  more  than  a  trifle  in  liquor  was  confirmed. 
Nancy,  indeed,  was  not  exempt  from  a  failing  which 
was  very  common  among  the  Jew's  female  pupils ; 
and  in  which,  in  their  tenderer  years,  they  were  rath 
er  encouraged  than  checked.  Her  disordered  ap 
pearance,  and  a  wholesale  perfume  of  Geneva  which 
pervaded  the  apartment,  afforded  strong  confirmato 
ry  evidence  of  the  justice  of  the  Jew's  supposition  ; 
and  when,  after  indulging  in  the  temporary  display 
of  violence  above  described,  she  subsided,  first  into 
dullness,  and  afterward  into  a  compound  of  feelings, 
under  the  influence  of  which  she  shed  tears  one  min 
ute,  and  in  the  next  gave  utterance  to  various  ex 
clamations  of  "  Never  sajfc  die  !"  and  divers  calcula 
tions  as  to  what  might  be  the  amount  of  the  odds  so 
long  as  a  lady  or  gentleman  was  happy,  Mr.  Fagin, 
who  had  had  considerable  experience  of  such  matters 
in  his  time,  saw,  with  great  satisfaction,  that  she  was 
very  far  gone  indeed. 

Having  eased  his  mind  by  this  discovery;  and 
having  accomplished  his  twofold  object  of  imparting 
to  the  girl  what  he  had  that  night  heard,  and  of  as 
certaining  with  his  own  eyes  that  Sikes  had  not  re 
turned,  Mr.  Fagin  again  turned  his  face  homeward, 
leaving  his  young  Mend  asleep,  with  her  head  upon 
the  table. 


FAGIN  AND  HIS    VISITOR. 


8;5 


It  was  withiii  an  hour  of  midnight.  The  weather 
being  dark  and  piercing  cold,  lie  had  no  great  temp 
tation  to  loiter.  The  sharp  wind  that  scoured  the 
streets  seemed  to  have  cleared  them  of  passengers, 
as  of  dust  and  mud,  for  few  people  were  abroad,  and 
they  were  to  all  appearance  hastening  fast  home. 
It  blew  from  the  right  quarter  for  the  Jew,  however, 
and  straight  before  it  he  went,  trembling,  and  shiv 
ering,  as  every  fresh  gnst  drove  him  rudely  on  his 
way. 

He  had  reached  the  corner  of  his  own  street,  and 
was  already  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  the  door-key, 
when  a  dark  figure  emerged  from  a  projecting  en 
trance  which  lay  in  deep  shadow,  and,  crossing  the 
road,  glided  up  to  him  unperceived. 

"  Fagiu !"  whispered  a  voice  close  to  his  ear. 


remarking  that  he  had  better  say  what  he  had  got 
to  say  under  cover ;  for  his  blood  was  chilled  with 
standing  about  so  long,  and  the  wind  blew  through 
him. 

Fagin  looked  as  if  he  could  have  willingly  excused 
himself  from  taking  home  a  visitor  at  that  unseason 
able  hour ;  and,  indeed,  muttered  something  about 
having  no  fire ;  but  his  companion  repeating  his  re 
quest  in  a  peremptory  manner,  he  unlocked  the  door, 
and  requested  bim  to  close  it  softly,  while  he  got  a 
light. 

"  It's  as  dark  as  the  grave,"  said  the  man,  groping 
forward  a  few  steps.  "  Make  haste !" 

"  Shut  the  door,"  whispered  Fagiu,  from  the  end 
of  the  passage.  As  he  spoke,  it  closed  with  a  loud 
noise. 


FAGIN  !'    WHISPERED   A  VOICE  CLOSE  TO   HIS   EAE." 


"Ah!"  said  the  Jew,  turning  quickly  round,  "is 
that— 

"Yes!"  interrupted  the  stranger.  "I  have  been 
lingering  here  these  two  hours.  Where  the  devil 
have  you  been?" 

"  On  your  business,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Jew, 
glancing  uneasily  at  his  companion,  and  slackening 
his  pace  as  he  spoke.  "  On  your  business,  all  night." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  sneer. 
"  Well ;  and  what's  come  of  it  ?" 

"  Nothing  good,"  said  the  Jew. 

"  Nothing  bad,  I  hope  ?"  said  the  stranger,  stopping 
short  and  turning  a  startled  look  on  his  companion. 

The  Jew  shook  his  head,  and  was  about  to  reply, 
when  the  stranger,  interrupting  him,  motioned  to  the 
house,  before  which  they  had  by  this  time  arrived ; 


"  That  wasn't  my  doing,"  said  the  other  man,  feel 
ing  his  way.  "  The  wind  blew  it  to,  or  it  shut  of  its 
own  accord,  one  or  the  other.  Look  sharp  with  the 
light,  or  I  shall  knock  my  brains  out  against  some 
thing  in  this  confounded  hole." 

Fagin  stealthily  descended  the  kitchen  stairs.  Af 
ter  a  short  absence,  he  returned  with  a  lighted  cau 
dle,  and  the  intelligence  that  Toby  Crackit  was  asleep 
in  the  back  room  below,  and  that  the  boys  were  in  the 
front  one.  Beckoning  the  man  to  follow  him,  he  led 
the  way  up  stairs. 

"  We  can  say  the  few  words  we've  got  to  say  in 
here,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew,  throwing  open  a  door 
on  the  first  floor ;  "  and  as  there  are  holes  in  the  shut 
ters,  and  we  never  show  lights  to  our  neighbors,  we'll 
set  the  candle  on  the  stairs.  There !" 


64 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


With  those  words,  the  Jew,  stooping  down,  placed 
the  candle  on  an  upper  flight  of  stairs  exactly  oppo 
site  to  the  room-door.  This  done,  he  led  the  way 
into  the  apartment ;  which  was  destitute  of  all  mov 
ables  save  a  broken  arm-chair,  and  an  old  couch  or 
sofa,  without  covering,  which  stood  behind  the  door. 
Upon  this  piece  of  furniture  the  stranger  sat  himself 
with  the  air  of  a  weary  man ;  and  the  Jew,  drawing 
up  the  arm-chair  opposite,  they  sat  face  to  face.  It 
was  not  quite  dark ;  the  door  was  partially  open, 
and  the  candle  outside  threw  a  feeble  reflection  on 
the  opposite  wall. 

They  conversed  for  some  time  in  whispers.  Though 
nothing  of  the  conversation  was  distinguishable  be 
yond  a  few  disjointed  words  here  and  there,  a  listen 
er  might  easily  have  perceived  that  Fagiii  appeared 
to  be  defending  himself  against  some  remarks  of  the 
stranger,  and  that  the  latter  was  in  a  state  of  con 
siderable  irritation.  They  might  have  been  talking 
thus  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  more,  when  Monks — 
by  which  name  the  Jew  had  designated  the  strange 
man  several  times  in  the  course  of  their  colloquy — 
said,  raising  his  voice  a  little, 

"  I  tell  you  again,  it  wras  badly  planned.  Why  not 
have  kept  him  here  among  the  rest,  and  made  a  sneak 
ing,  sniveling  pickpocket  of  him  at  once  ?" 

"  Only  hear  him !"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"Why,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  couldn't  have 
done  it  if  you  had  chosen  ?"  demanded  Monks,  stern 
ly.  "  Haven't  you  done  it  with  other  boys  scores  of 
times  ?  If  you  had  had  patience  for  a  twelvemonth 
at  most,  couldn't  you  have  got  him  convicted,  and 
sent  safely  out  of  the  kingdom — perhaps  for  life  ?" 

"  Whose  turn  would  that  have  served,  my  dear  ?" 
inquired  the  Jew,  humbly. 

"  Mine,"  replied  Monks. 

"  But  not  mine,"  said  the  Jew,  submissively.  "  He 
might  have  become  of  use  to  me.  WThen  there  are 
two  parties  to  a  bargain,  it  is  only  reasonable  that 
the  interests  of  both  should  be  consulted ;  is  it,  my 
good  friend  f " 

"  What  then  ?"  demanded  Monks. 

"  I  saw  it  was  not  easy  to  train  him  to  the  busi 
ness,"  replied  the  Jew ;  "  he  was  not  like  other  boys 
in  the  same  circumstances." 

"  Curse  him,  no !"  muttered  the  man,  "  or  he  would 
have  been  a  thief  long  ago." 

"I  had  no  hold  upon  him  to  make  him  worse," 
pursued  the  Jew,  anxiously  watching  the  counte 
nance  of  his  companion.  "  His  hand  was  not  in.  I 
had  nothing  to  frighten  him  with ;  which  we  always 
must  have  in  the  beginning,  or  we  labor  in  vain. 
What  could  I  do  ?  Send  him  out  with  the  Dodger 
and  Charley  ?  We  had  enough  of  that  at  first,  my 
dear ;  I  trembled  for  us  all." 

"  That  was  not  my  doing,"  observed  Monks. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear !"  renewed  the  Jew.  "And  I  don't 
quarrel  with  it  now ;  because,  if  it  had  never  hap 
pened,  you  might  never  have  clapped  eyes  upon  the 
hoy  to  notice  him,  and  so  led  to  the  discovery  that 
it  was  him  you  were  looking  for.  WTell !  I  got  him 
hack  for  you  by  means  of  the  girl;  and  then  she  be 
gins  to  favor  him." 


"  Throttle  the  girl !"  said  Monks,  impatiently. 

'•  Why,  we  can't  afford  to  do  that  just  now,  my 
dear,"  replied  the  Jew,  smiling;  "and,  besides,  that 
sort  of  thing  is  not  in  our  way ;  or,  one  of  these  d:i  vs. 
I  might  be  glad  to  have  it  done.  I  know  what  these 
girls  are,  Monks,  well.  As  soon  as  the  boy  begins  to 
harden,  she'll  care  no  more  for  him  than  for  a  block 
of  wood.  You  want  him  made  a  thief.  If  he  is  alive, 
I  can  make  him  one  from  this  time ;  and  if — if — " 
said  the  Jew,  drawing  nearer  to  the  other — "  it's  not 
likely,  mind — but  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst, 
and  he  is  dead — " 

"It's  no  fault  of  mine  if  he  is!"  interposed  the  oth 
er  man,  with  a  look  of  terror,  and  clasping  the  Jew's 
arm  with  trembling  hands.  "Mind that,  Fagiii!  I 
had  no  hand  in  it.  Any  thing  but  his  death,  I  told 
you  from  the  first.  I  won't  shed  blood ;  it's  always 
found  out,  and  haunts  a  man  besides.  If  they  shot 
him  dead,  I  was  not  the  cause ;  do  you  hear  me  ? 
Fire  this  infernal  don !  What's  that  ?" 

"What!"  cried  the  Jew,  grasping  the  coward  round 
the  body  with  both  arms,  as  he  sprung  to  his  feet. 
"  Where  ?" 

"Yonder!"  replied  the  man,  glaring  at  the  oppo 
site  wall.  "  The  shadow !  I  saw  the  shadow  of  a 
woman,  in  a  cloak  and  bonnet,  pass  along  the  wain 
scot  like  a  breath !" 

The  Jew  released  his  hold,  and  they  rushed  tu- 
multuously  from  the  room.  The  candle,  wasted  by 
the  draught,  was  standing  where  it  had  been  placed. 
It  showed  them  only  the  empty  staircase  and  their 
own  white  faces.  They  listened  intently:  a  pro 
found  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house. 

"It's  your  fancy,"  said  the  Jew,  taking  up  the 
light  and  turning  to  his  companion. 

"  I'll  swear  I  saw  it !"  replied  Monks,  trembling. 
"  It  was  bending  forward  when  I  saw  it  first ;  and 
when  I  spoke  it  darted  away." 

The  Jew  glanced  contemptuously  at  the  pale  face 
of  his  associate,  and  telling  him  he  could  follow  if  he 
pleased,  ascended  the  stairs.  They  looked  into  all 
the  rooms ;  they  were  cold,  bare,  and  empty.  They 
descended  into  the  passage,  and  thence  into  the  cel 
lars  below.  The  green  damp  hung  upon  the  low 
walls ;  the  tracks  of  the  snail  and  slug  glistened  in 
the  light  of  the  candle ;  but  all  was  still  as  death. 

"  What  do  you  think,  now  ?"  said  the  Jew,  when 
they  had  regained  the  passage.  "  Besides  ourselves, 
there's  not  a  creature  in  the  house  except  Toby  arid 
the  boys ;  and  they're  safe  enough.  See  here !" 

As  a  proof  of  the  fact,  the  Jew  drew  forth  two 
keys  from  his  pocket ;  and  explained,  that  when  he 
first  went  down  stairs  he  had  locked  them  in,  to  pre 
vent  any  intrusion  on  the  conference. 

This  accumulated  testimony  effectually  staggered 
Mr.  Monks.  His  protestations  had  gradually  become 
less  and  less  vehement  as  they  proceeded  in  their 
search  without  making  any  discovery ;  and  now  he 
gave  vent  to  several  very  grim  laughs,  and  con 
fessed  it  could  only  have  been  his  excited  imagina 
tion.  He  declined  any  renewal  of  the  conversation, 
however,  for  that  night,  suddenly  remembering  that 
it  \\as  past  one  o'clock.  And  so  the  amiable  couple 
parted. 


BUMBLE  FURTHER  ALLAYS  HIS  CURIOSITY. 


85 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ATONES  FOR  THE  UNPOLITENESS   OF  A  FORMER   CHAPTER, 
WHICH   DESERTED  A  LADY   MOST   UNCEREMONIOUSLY. 

AS  it  would  be  by  no  means  seemly  in  a  humble 
author  to  keep  so  mighty  a  personage  as  a  bea 
dle  waiting,  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  the  skirts 
of  his  coat  gathered  up  under  his  arms,  until  such 
time  as  it«might  suit  his  pleasure  to  relieve  him ;  and 
as  it  would  still  less  become  his  station  or  his  gal 
lantry  to  involve  in  the  same  neglect  a  lady  on  whom 
that  beadle  had  looked  with  an  eye  of  tenderness  and 
affection,  and  in  whose  ear  he  had  whispered  sweet 
words,  which,  coming  from  such  a  quarter,  might 
well  thrill  the  bosom  of  maid  or  matron  of  whatso 
ever  degree ;  the  historian  whose  pen  traces  these 
words — trusting  that  he  knows  his  place,  and  that 
he  entertains  a  becoming  reverence  for  those  upon 
earth  to  whom  high  and  important  authority  is  del 
egated  —  hastens  to  pay  them  that  respect  which 
their  position  demands,  and  to  treat  them  with  all 
that  duteous  ceremony  which  their  exalted  rank, 
and  (by  consequence)  great  virtues,  imperatively 
claim  at  his  hands.  Toward  this  end,  indeed,  he  had 
purposed  to  introduce,  in  this  place,  a  dissertation 
touching  the  divine  right  of  beadles,  and  elucidative 
of  the  position  that  a  beadle  can  do  no  wrong ;  which 
could  not  fail  to  have  been  both  pleasurable  and 
profitable  to  the  right-minded  reader,  but  which 
he  is  unfortunately  compelled,  by  want  of  time  and 
space,  to  postpone  to  some  more  convenient  and  fit 
ting  opportunity ;  on  the  arrival  of  which,  he  will 
be  prepared  to  show,  that  a  beadle  properly  consti 
tuted — that  is  to  say,  a  parochial  beadle,  attached  to 
a  parochial  work-house,  and  attending  in  his  official 
capacity  the  parochial  church — is,  in  right  and  virtue 
of  his  office,  possessed  of  all  the  excellences  and  best 
qualities  of  humanity;  and  that  to  none  of  those 
excellences  can  mere  companies'  beadles,  or  court-of- 
law  beadles,  or  even  chapel-of-ease  beadles  (save  the 
last,  and  they  in  a  very  lowly  and  inferior  degree), 
lay  the  remotest  sustainable  claim. 

Mr.  Bumble  had  re-counted  the  tea-spoons,  re- 
weighed  the  sugar-tongs,  made  a  closer  inspection 
of  the  milk-pot,  and  ascertained  to  a  nicety  the  ex 
act  condition  of  the  furniture,  down  to  the  very 
horse-hair  seats  of  the  chairs ;  and  had  repeated  each 
process  full  half  a  dozen  times,  before  he  began  to 
think  that  it  was  time  for  Mrs.  Comey  to  return. 
Thinking  begets  thinking :  as  there  were  no  sounds 
of  Mrs.  Corney's  approach,  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Bumble 
that  it  would  be  an  innocent  and  virtuous  way  of 
spending  the  time,  if  he  were  further  to  allay  his 
curiosity  by  a  cursory  glance  at  the  interior  of  Mrs. 
Corney's  chest  of  drawers. 

Having  listened  at  the  key-hole,  to  assure  himself 
that  nobody  was  approaching  the  chamber,  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  beginning  at  the  bottom,  proceeded  to  make  him 
self  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  the  three  long 
drawers ;  which,  being  filled  with  various  garments 
of  good  fashion  and  texture,  carefully  preserved  be- 
tweeu  two  layers  of  old  newspapers,  speckled  with 
dried  lavender,  seemed  to  yield  him  exceeding  sat 
isfaction.  Arriving,  in  course  of  time,  at  the  right- 
hand  corner  drawer  (in  which  was  the  key),  and  be 
holding  therein  a  small  padlocked  box,  which,  being 


shaken,  gave  forth  a  pleasant  sound,  as  of  the  chink 
ing  of  coin,  Mr.  Bumble  returned  with  a  stately  walk 
to  the  fire-place ;  and,  resuming  his  old  attitude,  said, 
with  a  grave  and  determined  air,  "  I'll  do  it !"  He 
followed  up  this  remarkable  declaration,  by  shaking 
his  head  in  a  waggish  manner  for  ten  minutes,  as 
though  he  were  remonstrating  with  himself  for  be 
ing  such  a  pleasant  dog ;  and  then  he  took  a  view 
of  his  legs  in  profile,  with  much  seeming  pleasure 
and  interest. 

He  was  still  placidly  engaged  in  this  latter  survey, 
when  Mrs.  Corney,  hurrying  into  the  room,  threw  her 
self,  in  a  breathless  state,  on  a  chair  by  the  fireside, 
and  covering  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  placed  the  oth 
er  over  her  heart,  and  gasped  for  breath. 

"  Mrs.  Comey,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  stooping  over  the 
matron,  "  what  is  this,  ma'am  ?  Has  any  thing  hap 
pened,  ma'am?  Pray  answer  me.  I'm  on — on — 
Mr.  Bumble,  in  his  alarm,  could  not  immediately 
think  of  the  word  "  tenter-hooks,"  so  he  said  "  broken 
bottles." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bumble !"  cried  the  lady,  "  I  have  been 
so  dreadfully  put  out !" 

"  Put  out,  ma'am !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bumble ;  "  who 
has  dared  to —  ?  I  know !"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  check 
ing  himself,  with  native  majesty,  "  this  is  them  wi- 
cious  paupers !" 

"It's  dreadful  to  think  of!"  said  the  lady,  shud 
dering. 

"Then  don't  think  of  it,  ma'am,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Bumble. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  whimpered  the  lady. 

"  Then  take  something,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
soothingly.  "  A  little  of  the  wine  ?" 

"Not  for  the  world!"  replied  Mrs.  Corney.  "I 
couldn't — oh !  The  top  shelf  in  the  right-hand  cor 
ner —  oh!"  Uttering  these  words,  the  good  lady 
pointed,  distractedly,  to  the  cupboard,  and  under 
went  a  convulsion  from  internal  spasms.  Mr.  Bum 
ble  rushed  to  the  closet ;  and,  snatching  a  pint  green- 
glass  bottle  from  the  shelf  thus  incoherently  indi 
cated,  filled  a  tea-cup  with  its  contents,  and  held  it 
to  the  lady's  lips. 

"  I'm  better  now,"  said  Mrs.  Corney,  falling  back, 
after  drinking  half  of  it. 

Mr.  Bumble  raised  his  eyes  piously  to  the  ceiling 
in  thankfulness ;  and,  bringing  them  down  again  to 
the  brim  of  the  cup,  lifted  it  to  his  nose. 

"  Peppermint,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Corney,  in  a  faint 
voice,  smiling  gently  on  the  beadle  as  she  spoke. 
"Try  it!  There's  a  little — a  little  something  else 
in  it." 

Mr.  Bumble  tasted  the  medicine  w^ith  a  doubtful 
look ;  smacked  his  lips ;  took  another  taste ;  and  put 
the  cup  down  empty. 

"  It's  very  comforting,"  said  Mrs.  Corney. 

"Very  much  so,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  the  beadle. 
As  he  spoke,  he  drew  a  chair  beside  the  matron,  and 
tenderly  inquired  what  had  happened  to  distress  her. 

"  Notliing,"  replied  Mrs.  Corney.  "  I  am  a  foolish, 
excitable,  weak  creetur." 

"  Not  weak,  ma'am,"  retorted  Mr.  Bumble,  drawing 
his  chair  a  little  closer.  "Are  you  a  weak  creetur, 
Mrs.  Corney  ?" 

"We  are  all  weak  creeturs,"  said  Mrs.  Corney,  lay 
ing  down  a  general  principle. 


86 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  So  we  are,"  said  the  beadle. 

Nothing  was  said,  on  either  side,  for  a  minute  or 
two  afterward.  By  the  expiration  of  that  time,  Mr. 
Bumble  had  illustrated  the  position  by  removing  his 
left  arm  from  the  back  of  Mrs.  Corney's  chair,  where 
it  had  previously  rested,  to  Mrs.  Corney's  apron- 
string,  round  which  it  gradually  became  entwined. 

"We  are  all  weak  creeturs,"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 

Mrs.  Corney  sighed. 

"  Don't  sigh,  Mrs.  Corney,"  said  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Mrs.  Coriiey.  And  she  sigh 
ed  again. 

"  This  is  a  very  comfortable  room,  ma'am,"  said 


"And  candles,"  replied  Mrs.  Corney,  slightly  re 
turning  the  pressure. 

"Coals,  candles,  and  house -rent  free,"  said  Mr. 
Bumble.  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Corney,  what  a  angel  you  are  !" 

The  lady  was  not  proof  against  this  burst  of  feel 
ing.  She  sank  into  Mr.  Bumble's  arms ;  and  that 
gentleman,  in  his  agitation,  imprinted  a  passionate 
kiss  upon  her  chaste  nose. 

"  Such  porochial  perfection !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  rapturously.  "  You  know  that  Mr.  Slout  is  worse 
to-night,  my  fascinator  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Coruey,  bashfully. 

"  He  can't  live  a  week,  the  doctor  says,"  pursued 


"  'DON'T  SIGH,  MBS.  OOKNEY,'  SAID  MR.  BUMBLE." 


Mr.  Bumble,  looking  round.  "Another  room,  and 
this,  ma'am,  would  be  a  complete  thing." 

"  It  would  be  too  much  for  one,"  murmured  the  lady. 

"  But  not  for  two,  ma'am,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bumble,  in 
soft  accents.  "  Eh,  Mrs.  Corney  ?" 

Mrs.  Corney  drooped  her  head  when  the  beadle 
said  this ;  the  beadle  drooped  his,  to  get  a  view  of 
Mrs.  Corney's  face.  Mrs.  Coruey,  with  great  propri 
ety,  turned  her  head  away,  and  released  her  hand  to 
get  at  her  pocket-handkerchief;  but  insensibly  re 
placed  it  in  that  of  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  The  board  allow  you  coals,  don't  they,  Mrs.  Cor 
ney  ?"  inquired  the  beadle,  affectionately  pressing  her 
hand. 


Mr.  Bumble.  "He  is  the  master  of  this  establish 
ment  ;  his  death  will  cause  a  wacancy :  that  wacan- 
cy  must  be  filled  up.  Oh,  Mrs.  Corney,  what  a  pros 
pect  this  opens !  What  a  opportunity  for  a  jiniug  of 
hearts  and  housekeepings !" 

Mrs.  Corney  sobbed. 

"  The  little  word  f '  said  Mr.  Bumble,  bending  over 
the  bashful  beauty.  "  The  one  little,  little,  little 
word,  my  blessed  Corney  ?" 

"  Ye — ye — yes !"  sighed  out  the  matron. 

"  One  more,"  pursued  the  beadle ;  "  compose  your 
darling  feelings  for  only  one  more.  When  is  it  to 
come  off?" 

Mrs.  Corney  twice  essayed  to  speak,  and  twice  fail- 


MR.  CLAY  POLE  AXD    THE  OYSTERS. 


87 


ed.  At  length  summoning  up  courage,  she  threw 
her  arms  roimcl  Mr.  Bumble's  neck,  and  said  it  might 
be  as  soon  as  ever  he  pleased,  and  that  he  was  ••  a 
irresistible  duck." 

Matters  being  thus  amicably  and  satisfactorily  ar 
ranged,  the  contract  was  solemnly  ratified  in  anoth 
er  tea-cupful  of  the  peppermint  mixture ;  which  was 
rendered  the  more  necessary  by  the  flutter  and  agi 
tation  of  the  lady's  spirits.  While  it  was  being  dis 
posed  of,  she  acquainted  Mr.  Bumble  with  the  old 
woman's  decease. 

"  Very  good,"  said  that  gentleman,  sipping  his  pep 
permint  ;  "  I'll  call  at  Sowerberry's  as  I  go  home,  and 
tell  him  to  send  to-morrow  morning.  Was  it  that 
as  frightened  yon,  love  ?'' 

"  It  wasn't  any  thing  particular,  dear,"  said  the 
lady,  evasively. 

"  It  must  have  been  something,  love,"  urged  Mr. 
Bumble.  "  Won't  you  tell  your  own  B.  ?" 

"  Not  now,"  rejoined  the  lady ;  "  one  of  these  days. 
After  we're  married,  dear." 

"After  we're  married!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bumble. 
"  It  wasn't  any  impudence  from  any  of  them  male 
paupers  as — : 

"  No,  no,  love !"  interposed  the  lady,  hastily. 

"  If  I  thought  it  was,"  continued  Mr.  Bumble ;  "  if 
I  thought  as  any  one  of  'em  had  dared  to  lift  his  wul- 
gar  eyes  to  that  lovely  countenance — : 

"  They  wouldn't  have  dared  to  do  it,  love,"  re 
sponded  the  lady. 

"  They  had  better  not !"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  clenching 
his  list.  "  Let  me  see  any  man,  porochial  or  extra- 
porochial,  as  would  presume  to  do  it ;  and  I  can  tell 
lihn  that  he  wouldn't  do  it  a  second  time !" 

Unembellished  by  any  violence  of  gesticulation, 
this  might  have  seemed  no  very  high  compliment  to 
the  lady's  charms ;  but,  as  Mr.  Bumble  accompanied 
the  threat  with  many  warlike  gestures,  she  was  much 
touched  with  this  proof  of  his  devotion,  and  pro 
tested,  with  great  admiration,  that  he  was  indeed  a 
dove. 

The  dove  then  turned  up  his  coat-collar,  and  put 
on  his  cocked  hat ;  and,  having  exchanged  a  long 
and  affectionate  embrace  with  his  future  partner, 
once  again  braved  the  cold  wind  of  the  night,  mere 
ly  pausing,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  the  male  paupers' 
ward,  to  abuse  them  a  little,  with  the  view  of  satis- 
lying  himself  that  he  could  fill  the  office  of  work 
house  master  with  needful  acerbity.  Assured  of  his 
qualifications,  Mr.  Bumble  left  the  building  with  a 
light  heart,  and  bright  visions  of  his  future  promo 
tion,  which  served  to  occupy  his  mind  until  he  reach 
ed  the  shop  of  the  undertaker. 

Now  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sowerberry  having  gone  out  to 
tea  and  supper,  and  Noah  Claypole  not  being  at  any 
time  disposed  to  take  upon  himself  a  greater  amount 
of  physical  exertion  than  is  necessary  to  a  conven 
ient  performance  of  the  two  functions  of  eating  and 
drinking,  the  shop  was  not  closed,  although  it  was 
past  the  usual  hour  of  shutting  up.  Mr.  Bumble 
tapped  with  his  cane  on  the  counter  several  times ; 
but,  attracting  no  attention,  and  beholding  a  light 
shining  through  the  glass-window  of  the  little  par 
lor  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  he  made  bold  to  peep  in 
and  see  what  was  going  forward ;  and  when  he  saw 
what  u-as  going  forward,  he  was  not  a  little  surprised. 


The  cloth  was  laid  for  supper ;  the  table  was  cov 
ered  with  bread-and-butter,  plates  and  glasses,  a  por 
ter-pot,  and  a  •wine-bottle.  At  the  upper  end  of 
the  table  Mr.  Noah  Claypole  lolled  negligently  in  an 
easy-chair,  with  his  legs  thrown  over  one  of  the 
arms,  an  open  clasp-knife  in  one  hand,  and  a  mass  of 
buttered  bread  in  the  other.  Close  beside  him  stood 
Charlotte,  opening  oysters  from  a  barrel,  which  Mr. 
Claypole  condescended  to  swallow  with  remarkable 
avidity.  A  more  than  ordinary  redness  in  the  re 
gion  of  the  young  gentleman's  nose,  and  a  kind  of 
fixed  wink  in  his  right  eye,  denoted  that  he  was  in  a 
slight  degree  intoxicated ;  these  symptoms  were  con 
firmed  by  the  intense  relish  with  which  he  took  his 
oysters,  for  which  nothing  but  a  strong  appreciation 
of  their  cooling  properties,  in  cases  of  internal  fever, 
could  have  sufficiently  accounted. 

"  Here's  a  delicious  fat  one,  Noah,  dear !"  said  Char 
lotte  ;  "  try  him,  do ;  only  this  one." 

"What  a  delicious  thing  is  a  oyster !"  remarked 
Mr.  Claypole,  after  he  had  swallowed  it.  "What  a 
pity  it  is,  a  number  of  'em  should  ever  make  you  feel 
uncomfortable ;  isn't  it,  Charlotte  f ' 

"  It's  quite  a  cruelty,"  said  Charlotte. 

"So  it  is,"  acquiesced  Mr.  Claypole.  "A'n't  yer 
fond  of  oysters  ?" 

"  Not  overmuch,"  replied  Charlotte.  "  I  like  to 
see  you  eat  'em,  Noah  dear,  better  than  eating  'em 
myself." 

"  Lor* !"  said  Noah,  reflectively ;  "  how  queer !" 

"  Have  another,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Here's  one  with 
such  a  beautiful,  delicate  beard !" 

"  I  can't  manage  any  more,"  said  Noah.  "  I'm  very 
sorry.  Come  here,  Charlotte,  and  I'll  kiss  yer." 

"What!"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  bursting  into  the  room. 
"  Say  that  again,  sir." 

Charlotte  uttered  a  scream,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
apron.  Mr.  Claypole,  without  making  any  further 
change  in  his  position  than  suffering  his  legs  to 
reach  the  ground,  gazed  at  the  beadle  in  drunken 
terror. 

"  Say  it  again,  you  wile,  owdacious  fellow !"  said 
Mr.  Bumble.  "  How  dare  you  mention  such  a  thing, 
sir  ?  And  how  dare  you  encourage  him,  you  insolent 
minx  ?  Kiss  her!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bumble,  in  strong 
indignation.  "  Faugh !" 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it !"  said  Noah,  blubbering. 
"  She's  always  a-kissiug  of  me,  whether  I  like  it  or 
not," 

"  Oh,  Noah !"  cried  Charlotte,  reproachfully. 

"  Yer  are ;  yer  know  yer  are !"  retorted  Noah. 
"  She's  always  a-doing  of  it,  Mr.  Bumble,  sir ;  she 
chucks  me  under  the  chin,  please,  sir ;  and  makes  all 
manner  of  love !" 

"  Silence !"  cried  Mr.  Bumble  sternly.  "  Take  your 
self  down  stairs,  ma'am.  Noah,  you  shut  up  the 
shop ;  say  another  word  till  your  master  comes  home 
at  your  peril ;  and,  when  he  does  come  home,  tell 
him  that  Mr.  Bumble  said  he  was  to  send  a  old  wom 
an's  shell  after  breakfast  to-morrow  morning.  Do 
you  hear,  sir  ?  Kissing !"  cried  Mr.  Bumble,  holding 
up  his  hands.  "  The  sin  and  wickedness  of  the  low 
er  orders  in  this  porochial  district  is  frightful !  If 
Parliament  don't  take  their  abominable  courses  un 
der  consideration,  this  country's  ruined,  and  the  char 
acter  of  the  peasantry  gone  forever!"  With  these 


88 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


words,  the  beadle  strode,  \vith  a  lofty  and  gloomy 
air,  from  the  undertaker's  premises. 

And  now  that  we  have  accompanied  him  so  far  on 
his  road  home,  and  have  made  all  necessary  prepara 
tions  for  the  old  woman's  funeral,  let  us  set  on  foot 
a  few  inquiries  after  young  Oliver  Twist,  and  ascer 
tain  whether  he  be  still  lying  in  the  ditch  where 
Toby  Crackit  left  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

LOOKS  AFTER  OLIVER,  AND  PROCEEDS  WITH  HIS  ADVEN 
TURES. 

"  YT7OLVES  tear  your  throats !"  muttered  Sikes, 

T  V  grinding  his  teeth.  "I  wish  I  was  among 
some  of  you ;  you'd  howl  the  hoarser  for  it." 

As  Sikes  growled  forth  this  imprecation,  with  the 
most  desperate  ferocity  that  his  desperate  nature 
was  capable  of,  he  rested  the  body  of  the  wounded 
boy  across  his  bended  knee,  and  turned  his  head,  for 
an  instant,  to  look  back  at  his  pursuers. 

There  was  little  to  be  made  out,  in  the  mist  and 
darkness;  but  the  loud  shouting  of  men  vibrated 
through  the  air,  and  the  barking  of  the  neighboring 
dogs,  roused  by  the  sound  of  the  alarm-bell,  resound 
ed  in  every  direction. 

"  Stop,  you  white-livered  hound !"  cried  the  robber, 
shouting  after  Toby  Crackit,  who,  making  the  best 
use  of  his  long  legs,  was  already  ahead.  "  Stop !" 

The  repetition  of  the  word  brought  Toby  to  a  dead 
stand-still.  For  he  was  not  quite  satisfied  that  he 
was  beyond  the  range  of  pistol-shot ;  and  Sikes  was 
in  no  mood  to  be  played  with. 

"  Bear  a  hand  with  the  boy,"  cried  Sikes,  beckon 
ing  furiously  to  his  confederate.  "  Come  back !" 

Toby  made  a  show  of  returning ;  but  ventured,  in 
a  low  voice,  broken  for  want  of  breath,  to  intimate 
considerable  reluctance  as  he  came  slowly  along. 

"  Quicker !"  cried  Sikes,  laying  the  boy  in  a  dry 
ditch  at  his  feet,  and  drawing  the  pistol  from  his 
pocket.  "  Don't  play  booty  with  me !" 

At  this  moment  the  noise  grew  louder.  Sikes, 
again  looking  round,  could  discern  that  the  men  who 
had  given  chase  were  already  climbing  the  gate  of 
the  field  in  which  he  stood;  and  that  a  couple  of 
dogs  were  some  paces  in  advance  of  them. 

"  It's  all  up,  Bill !"  cried  Toby ;  "  drop  the  kid,  and 
show  'em  your  heels."  With  this  parting  advice, 
Mr.  Crackit,  preferring  the  chance  of  being  shot  by 
his  friend  to  the  certainty  of  being  taken  by  his  ene 
mies,  fairly  turned  tail,  and  darted  off  at  full  speed. 
Sikes  clenched  his  teeth;  took  one  look  around; 
threw  over  the  prostrate  form  of  Oliver  the  cape  in 
which  he  had  been  hurriedly  muffled ;  ran  along  the 
front  of  the  hedge,  as  if  to  distract  the  attention  of 
those  behind  from  the  spot  where  the  boy  lay : 
paused  for  a  second  before  another  hedge  which  met 
it  at  right  angles ;  and,  whirling  his  pistol  high  into 
the  air,  cleared  it  at  a  bound,  and  was  gone. 

"  Ho,  ho,  there !"  cried  a  tremulous  voice  in  the 
rear.  "  Pincher !  Neptune !  Come  here,  come  here !" 

The  dogs,  who,  in  common  with  their  masters, 
seemed  to  have  no  particular  relish  for  the  sport  in 
which  they  were  engaged,  readily  answered  to  the 


command.  Three  men,  who  had  by  this  time  ad 
vanced  some  distance  into  the  field,  stopped  to  take 
counsel  together. 

"  My  advice,  or,  leastways,  I  should  say,  my  orders, 
is,"  said  the  fattest  man  of  the  party,  "  that  we  'me 
diately  go  home  again." 

"  I  am  agreeable  to  any  thing  which  is  agreeable 
to  Mr.  Giles,"  said  a  shorter  man ;  who  was  by  no 
means  of  a>  slirn  figure,  and  who  was  very  pale  in  the 
face,  and  very  polite ;  as  frightened  men  frequently 
are. 

"  I  shouldn't  wish  to  appear  ill-mannered,  gentle 
men,"  said  the  third,  who  had  called  the  dogs  back ; 
"  Mr.  Giles  ought  to  know." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  shorter  man ;  "  and  what 
ever  Mr.  Giles  says,  it  isn't  our  place  to  contradict 
him.  No,  no,  I  know  my  sitiwation !  Thank  my 
stars,  I  know  my  sitiwation."  To  tell  the  truth,  the 
little  man  did  seem  to  know  his  situation,  and  to 
know  perfectly  well  that  it  was  by  no  means  a  de 
sirable  one ;  for  his  teeth  chattered  in  his  head  as  he 
spoke. 

'  You  are  afraid,  Brittles,"  said  Mr.  Giles. 

<  I  a'n't,"  said  Brittles. 

'  You  are,"  said  Giles. 

'  You're  a  falsehood,  Mr.  Giles,"  said  Brittles. 

'  You're  a  lie,  Brittles,"  said  Mr.  Giles. 

Now  these  four  retorts  arose  from  Mr.  Giles's  taunt ; 
and  Mr.  Giles's  taunt  had  arisen  from  his  indignation 
at  having  the  responsibility  of  going  home  again 
imposed  upon  himself  under  cover  of  a  compliment. 
The  third  man  brought  the  dispute  to  a  close,  most 
philosophic  ally. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
"  we're  all  afraid." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  who  Avns 
the  palest  of  the  party. 

"  So  I  do,"  replied  the  man.  "  It's  natural  and 
proper  to  be  afraid,  under  such  circumstances.  I 
am." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Brittles ;  "  only  there's  no  call  to 
tell  a  man  he  is,  so  bounceably." 

These  frank  admissions  softened  Mr.  Giles,  who  at 
once  owned  that  lie  was  afraid;  upon  which  they 
all  three  faced  about,  and  ran  back  again  with  the 
completest  unanimity,  until  Mr.  Giles  (who  had  the 
shortest  wind  of  the  party,  and  was  encumbered 
with  a  pitchfork)  most  handsomely  insisted  on  stop 
ping,  to  make  an  apology  for  his  hastiness  of  speech. 

"  But  it's  wonderful,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  when  he  had 
explained, "  what  a  man  will  do  when  his  blood  is 
up.  I  should  have  committed  murder — I  know  I 
should — if  we'd  caught  one  of  them  rascals." 

As  the  other  two  were  impressed  with  a  similar 
presentiment ;  and  as  their  blood,  like  his,  had  all 
gone  down  again ;  some  specTilation  ensued  upon  the 
cause  of  this  sudden  change  in  their  temperament. 

"  I  know  what  it  was,"  said  Mr.  Giles ;  "  it  was  the 
gate." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was,"  exclaimed  Brittles, 
catching  at  the  idea. 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it,"  said  Giles,  "  that  that 
gate  stopped  the  flow  of  the  excitement.  I  felt  all 
mine  suddenly  going  away  as  I  was  climbing  over 
it." 

Bv  a  remarkable  coincidence,  the  other  two  had 


OLI TEE'S  HELPLESS  CONDITION. 


been  visited  with  the  same  unpleasant  sensation  at 
that  precise  moment.  It  was  quite  obvious,  there 
fore,  that  it  was  the  gate ;  especially  as  there  was  no 
doubt  regarding  the  time  at  which  the  change  had 
taken  place,  because  all  three  remembered  that  they 
had  come  in  sight  of  the  robbers  at  the  instant  of  its 
occurrence. 

This  dialogue  was  held  between  the  two  men  who 
had  surprised  the  burglars,  and  a  traveling  tinker 
who  had  been  sleeping  in  an  out-house,  and  who  had 
been  roused,  together  with  his  two  mongrel  curs,  to 
join  in  the  pursuit.  Mr.  Giles  acted  in  the  double 
capacity  of  butler  and  steward  to  the  old  lady  of  the 
mansion ;  Brittles  was  a  lad-of-all-work,  who,  hav 
ing  entered  her  service  a  mere  child,  was  treated  as 
a  promising  young  boy  still,  though  he  was  some 
thing  past  thirty. 

Encouraging  each  other  with  such  converse  as 
this ;  but,  keeping  very  close  together,  notwithstand 
ing,  and  looking  apprehensively  round,  whenever  a 
fresh  gust  rattled  through  the  boughs,  the  three 
men  hurried  back  to  a  tree,  behind  which  they  had 
left  their  lantern,  lest  its  light  should  inform  the 
thieves  in  what  direction  to  fire.  Catching  up  the 
light,  they  made  the  best  of  their  way  home  at  a 
good  round  trot ;  and  long  after  their  dusky  forms 
had  ceased  to  be  discernible,  the  light  might  have 
been  seen  twinkling  and  dancing  in  the  distance, 
like  some  exhalation  of  the  damp  and  gloomy  atmos 
phere  through  which  it  was  swiftly  borne. 

The  air  grew  colder  as  day  came  slowly  on ;  and 
the  mist  rolled  along  the  ground  like  a  dense  cloud 
of  smoke.  The  grass  was  wet ;  the  pathways  and 
low  places  were  all  mire  and  water;  the  damp 
breath  of  an  unwholesome  wind  went  languidly  by, 
with  a  hollow  moaning.  Still,  Oliver  lay  motionless 
and  insensible  on  the  spot  where  Sikes  had  left  him. 

Morning  drew  on  apace.  The  air  became  more 
sharp  and  piercing,  as  its  first  dull  hue — the  death 
of  night,  rather  than  the  birth  of  day— glimmered 
faintly  in  the  sky.  The  objects  which  had  looked 
dim  and  terrible  in  the  darkness  grew  more  and 
more  defined,  and  gradually  resolved  into  their  fa 
miliar  shapes.  The  rain  came  down,  thick  and  fast, 
and  pattered  noisily  among  the  leafless  bushes.  But 
Oliver  felt  it  not,  as  it  beat  against  him;  for  he  still 
lay  stretched,  helpless  and  unconscious,  on  his  bed  of 
clay. 

At  length,  a  low  cry  of  pain  broke  the  stillness  that 
prevailed.;  and  uttering  it,  the  boy  awoke.  His  left 
arm.  rudely  bandaged  in  a  shawl,  hung  heavy  and 
useless  at  his  side :  the  bandage  was  saturated  with 
blood.  He  was  so  weak,  that  he  could  scarcely  raise 
himself  into  a  sitting  posture ;  when  he  had  done  so, 
he  looked  feebly  round  for  help,  and  groaned  with 
pain.  Trembling  in  every  joint,  from  cold  and  ex 
haustion,  he  made  an  effort  to  stand  upright ;  but, 
shuddering  from  head  to  foot,  fell  prostrate  on  the 
ground. 

After  a  short  return  of  the  stupor  in  which  he  had 
so  long  plunged,  Oliver,  urged  by  a  creeping 
sickness  at  his  heart,  which  seemed  to  warn  him 
tli at.  if  he  lay  there,  he  must  surely  die,  got  upon 
his  feet,  and  essayed  to  walk.  His  head  was  dizzy, 
and  lie  staggered  to  and  fro  like  a  drunken  man. 
But  he  kept  up,  nevertheless,  and,  with  his  head 


drooping  languidly  on  his  breast,  went  stumbling 
onward,  he  knew  not  whither. 

And  now,  hosts  of  bewildering  and  confused  ideas 
canie  crowding  on  his  mind.  He  seemed  to  be  still 
walking  between  Sikes  and  Crackit,  who  were  an 
grily  disputing — for  the  very  words  they  said  sound 
ed  in  his  ears ;  and  when  he  caught  his  own  atten 
tion,  as  it  were,  by  making  some  violent  effort  to 
save  himself  from  falling,  he  found  that  he  was  talk 
ing  to  them.  Then  he  was  alone  with  Sikes,  plod 
ding  on  as  on  the  previous  day;  and  as  shadowy 
people  passed  them,  he  felt  the  robber's  grasp  upon 
his  wrist.  Suddenly,  he  started  back  at  the  report 
of  fire-arms ;  there  rose  into  the  air  loud  cries  aud 
shouts ;  lights  gleamed  before  his  eyes ;  all  was  noise 
and  tumult,  and  some  unseen  hand  bore  him  hurried 
ly  away.  Through  all  these  rapid  visions,  there  ran 
an  undefined,  uneasy  consciousness  of  pain,  which 
wearied  and  tormented  him  incessantly. 

Thus  he  staggered  on,  creeping  almost  mechanic 
ally,  between  the  bars  of  gates,  or  through  hedge- 
gaps,  as  they  came  in  his  way,  until  he  reached  a 
road.  Here  the  rain  began  to  fall  so  heavily,  that  it 
roused  him. 

He  looked  about,  and  saw  that  at  no  great  distance 
there  was  a  house,  which  perhaps  he  could  reach. 
Pitying  his  condition,  they  might  have  compassion 
on  him ;  and  if  they  did  not,  it  would  be  better,  he 
thought,  to  die  near  human  beings  than  in  the  lone 
ly  open  fields.  He  summoned  up  all  his  strength  for 
one  last  trial,  and  bent  his  faltering  steps  toward  it. 

As  he  drew  nearer  to  this  house,  a  feeling  came 
over  him  that  he  had  seen  it  before.  He  remember 
ed  nothing  of  its  details ;  but  the  shape  aud  aspect 
of  the  building  seemed  familiar  to  him. 

That  garden  wall !  On  the  grass  inside,  he  had 
fallen  on  his  knees  last  night,  and  prayed  the  two 
men's  mercy.  It  was  the  very  house  they  had  at 
tempted  to  rob. 

Oliver  felt  such  fear  come  over  him  when  he  rec 
ognized  the  place,  that,  for  the  instant,  he  forgot 
the  agony  of  his  wound,  and  thought  only  of  flight. 
Flight!  He  could  scarcely  stand;  and  if  he  were  in 
full  possession  of  all  the  best  powers  of  his  slight  and 
youthful  frame,  whither  could  he  fly  ?  He  pushed 
against  the  garden  -  gate ;  it  was  unlocked,  and 
swung  open  on  its  hinges.  He  tottered  across  the 
lawn ;  climbed  the  steps ;  knocked  faintly  at  the 
door ;  and,  his  whole  strength  failing  him,  sunk 
down  against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  little  portico. 

It  happened  that  about  this  time,  Mr.  Giles,  Brit- 
ties,  and  the  tinker,  were  recruiting  themselves,  after 
the  fatigues  and  terrors  of  the  night,  with  tea  and 
sundries,  in  the  kitchen.  Not  that  it  was  Mr.  Giles's 
habit  to  admit  to  too  great  familiarity  the  humbler 
servants :  toward  whom  it  was  rather  his  wont  to 
deport  himself  with  a  lofty  affability,  which,  while 
it  gratified,  could  not  fail  to  remind  them  of  his  su 
perior  position  in  society.  But  death,  fires,  and  bur 
glary,  make  all  men  equals ;  so  Mr.  Giles  sat  with  his 
legs  stretched  out  before  the  kitchen  fender,  leaning 
his  left  arm  on  the  table,  while,  with  his  right,  he 
illustrated  a  circumstantial  and  minute  account  of 
the  robbery,  to  which  his  hearers  (but  especially  the 
cook  and  house-maid,  who  were  of  the  party)  listened 
with  breathless  interest. 


90 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  It  was  about  half-past  two,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  "  or 
I  wouldn't  swear  that  it  mightn't  have  been  a  little 
nearer  three,  when  I  woke  up,  and,  turning  round  in 
my  bed,  as  it  might  be  so  (here  Mr.  Giles  turned  | 
round  in  his  chair,  and  pulled  the  corner  of  the  ta-  j 
ble-cloth  over  him  to  imitate  bed-clothes),  I  fancied 
I  heerd  a  noise." 

At  this  point  of  the  narrative  the  cook  turned  pale, 
and  asked  the  house-maid  to  shut  the  door :  who  ask 
ed  Brittles,  who  asked  the  tinker,  who  pretended  not 
to  hear. 

"  — Heerd  a  noise,"  continued  Mr.  Giles.  "  I  says, 
at  first,  '  This  is  illusion ;'  and  was  composing  my 
self  off  to  sleep,  when  I  heerd  the  noise  again,  dis 
tinct." 

"  What  sort  of  a  noise  ?"  asked  the  cook. 

"A  kind  of  a  busting  noise,"  replied  Mr.  Giles, 
looking  round  him. 

"  More  like  the  noise  of  powdering  a  iron  bar  on  a 
nutmeg-grater,"  suggested  Brittles. 

"  It  was,  when  you  heerd  it,  sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Giles ; 
"  but  at  this  time  it  had  a  busting  sound.  I  turned 
down  the  clothes,"  continued  Giles,  rolling  back  the 
table-cloth,  "  sat  up  in  bed,  and  listened." 

The  cook  and  house-maid  simultaneously  ejacu 
lated  "  Lor !"  and  drew  their  chairs  closer  together. 

"I  heerd  it  now,  quite  apparent,"  resumed  Mr. 
Giles.  "  '  Somebody,'  I  says, '  is  forcing  of.  a  door,  or 
window ;  what's  to  be  done  ?  I'll  call  up  that  poor 
lad,  Brittles,  and  save  him  from  being  murdered  in 
his  bed ;  or  his  throat,'  I  says, '  may  be  cut  from  his 
right  ear  to  his  left,  without  his  ever  knowing  it.'  " 

Here  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  Brittles,  who  fixed 
his  upon  the  speaker,  and  stared  at  him  with  his 
mouth  wide  open,  and  his  face  expressive  of  the  most 
unmitigated  horror. 

"I  tossed  off  the  clothes,"  said  Giles,  throwing 
away  the  table-cloth,  and  looking  very  hard  at  the 
cook  and  house-maid,  "  got  softly  out  of  bed,  drew 
on  a  pair  of — " 

"  Ladies  present,  Mr.  Giles,"  murmured  the  tinker. 

"  — Of  shoes,  sir,"  said  Giles,  turning  upon  him, 
and  laying  great  emphasis  on  the  word ;  "  seized  the 
loaded  pistol  that  always  goes  up  stairs  with  the 
plate-basket;  and  walked  on  tiptoes  to  his  room. 
'  Brittles,'  I  says,  when  I  had  woke  him,  '  don't  be 
frightened !' " 

"  So  you  did,"  observed  Brittles,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  '  We're  dead  men,  I  think,  Brittles,'  I  says,"  con 
tinued  Giles ;  "  '  but  don't  be  frightened.'  " 

"  Was  he  frightened  ?"  asked  the  cook. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Giles.  "  He  was  as 
firm — ah !  pretty  near  as  firm  as  I  was." 

"  I  should  have  died  at  once,  I'm  sure,  if  it  had 
been  me,"  observed  the  house-maid. 

"  You're  a  woman,"  retorted  Brittles,  plucking  up 
a  little. 

"  Brittles  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  nodding  his 
head,  approvingly  ;  "  from  a  woman  nothing  else 
was  to  be  expected.  We,  being  men,  took  a  dark 
lantern  that  was  standing  on  Brittles's  hob,  and 
groped  our  way  down  stairs  in  the  pitch  dark — as 
might  be  so." 

Mr.  Giles  had  risen  from  his  seat,  and  taken  two 
steps  with  his  eyes  shut,  to  accompany  his  descrip 
tion  with  appropriate  action,  when  he  started  vio 


lently,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  and 
hurried  back  to  his  chair.  The  cook  and  house-maid 
screamed. 

"  It  was  a  knock,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  assuming  perfect 
serenity.  "  Open  the  door,  somebody." 

Nobody  moved. 

"  It  seems  a  strange  sort  of  a  thing,  a  knock  com 
ing  at  such  a  time  in  the  morning,"  said  Mr.  Giles, 
surveying  the  pale  faces  which  surrounded  him,  and 
looking  very  blank  himself;  "but  the  door  must  be 
opened.  Do  you  hear,  somebody  ?" 

Mr.  Giles,  as  he  spoke,  looked  at  Brittles ;  but  that 
young  man,  being  naturally  modest,  probably  con 
sidered  himself  nobody,  and  so  held  that  the  inquiry 
could  not  have  any  application  to  him ;  at  all  events, 
he  tendered  no  reply.  Mr.  Giles  directed  an  appeal 
ing  glance  at  the  tinker ;  but  he  had  suddenly  fallen 
asleep.  The  women  were  out  of  the  question. 

"  If  Brittles  would  rather  open  the  door  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  after  a  short 
silence,  "  I  am  ready  to  make  one." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  the  tinker,  waking  up  as  suddenly 
as  he  had  fallen  asleep. 

Brittles  capitulated  on  these  terms ;  and  the  par 
ty  being  somewhat  reassured  by  the  discovery  (made 
on  throwing  open  the  shutters)  that  it  was  now 
broad  day,  took  their  way  up  stairs,  with  the  dogs 
in  front.  The  two  women,  who  were  afraid  to  stay 
below,  brought  up  the  rear.  By  the  advice  of  Mr. 
Giles,  they  all  talked  very  loud,  to  warn  any  evil- 
disposed  person  outside  that  they  were  strong  in 
numbers;  and  by  a  master-stroke  of  policy,  origi 
nating  in  the  brain  of  the  same  ingenious  gentle 
man,  the  dogs'  tails  were  well  pinched,  in  the  hall, 
to  make  them  bark  savagely. 

These  precautions  having  been  taken,  Mr.  Giles 
held  on  fast  by  the  tinker's  arm  (to  prevent  his  run 
ning  away,  as  he  pleasantly  said),  and  gave  the  word 
of  command  to  open  the  door.  Brittles  obeyed ;  the 
group,  peeping  timorously  over  each  other's  shoul 
ders,  beheld  no  more  formidable  object  than  poor 
little  Oliver  Twist,  speechless  and  exhausted,  who 
raised  his  heavy  eyes  and  mutely  solicited  their  com 
passion. 

"A  boy!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Giles,  valiantly  pushing 
the  tinker  into  the  background.  "  What's  the  mat 
ter  with  the—  Eh  ?  Why — Brittles— look  here— 
don't  you  know  ?" 

Brittles,  who  had  got  behind  the  door  to  open  it, 
no  sooner  saw  Oliver,  than  he  uttered  a  loud  cry. 
Mr.  Giles,  seizing  the  boy  by  one  leg  and  one  arm 
(fortunately  not  the  broken  limb)  lugged  him 
straight  into  the  hall,  and  deposited  him  at  full 
length  on  the  floor  thereof. 

"  Here  he  is !"  bawled  Giles,  calling,  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement,  up  the  staircase ;  "  here's  one  of 
the  thieves,  ma'am !  Here's  a  thief,  miss !  Wound 
ed,  miss !  I  shot  him,  miss ;  and  Brittles  held  the 
light." 

"  —In  a  lantern,  miss,"  cried  Brittles,  applying 
one  hand  to  the  side  of  his  mouth,  so  that  his  voice 
might  travel  the  better. 

The  two  women-servants  ran  up  stairs  to  carry 
the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Giles  had  captured  a  rob 
ber;  and  the  tinker  busied  himself  in  endeavoring 
to  restore  Oliver,  lest  he  should  die  before  he  could 


THE  DOCTOR  AEEIVE8. 


91 


be  banged.  In  the  midst  of  all  tins  noise  and  com 
motion  there  was  beard  a  sweet  female  voice,  which 
quelled  it  in  an  instant. 

"  Giles !"  whispered  the  voice  from  the  stairhead. 

"I'm  here,  miss,"  replied  Mr.  Giles.  "Don't  be 
frightened,  miss ;  I  ain't  much  injured.  He  didn't 
make  a  very  desperate  resistance,  miss!  I  was  soon 
too  many  for  him." 

"Hush!"  replied  the  young  lady;  "you  frighten 
my  aunt  as  much  as  the  thieves  did.  Is  the  poor 
creature  much  hurt  f" 

"  Wounded  desperate,  miss,"  replied  Giles,  with  in 
describable  complacency. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  was  a-going,  miss,"  bawled 
Brittles,  in  the  same  manner  as  before.  "  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  come  and  look  at  him,  miss,  in  case  he 
should  ?" 

"Hush,  pray;  there's  a  good  man!"  rejoined  the 
lady.  "  Wait  quietly  only  one  instant,  while  I  speak 
to  aunt." 

With  a  footstep  as  soft  and  gentle  as  the  voice, 
the  speaker  tripped  away.  She  soon  returned,  with 
the  direction  that  the  wounded  person  was  to  be 
carried  carefully  up  stairs  to  Mr.  Giles's  room ;  and 
that  Brittles  was  to  saddle  the  pony  and  betake  him 
self  instantly  to  Chertsey ;  from  which  place  he  was 
to  dispatch,  with  all  speed,  a  constable  and  doctor. 

"  But  won't  you  take  one  look  at  him  first,  miss  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Giles,  with  as  much  pride  as  if  Oliver  were 
some  bird  of  rare  plumage  that  he  had  skillfully 
brought  down.  "  Not  one  little  peep,  miss  ?" 

"  Not  now,  for  the  world,"  replied  the  young  lady. 
"  Poor  fellow  !  Oh !  treat  him  kindly,  Giles,  for  my 
sake !" 

The  old  servant  looked  up  at  the  speaker,  as  she 
turned  away,  with  a  glance  as  proud  and  admiring 
as  if  she  had  been  his  own  child.  Then,  bending 
over  Oliver,  he  helped  to  carry  him  up  stairs,  with 
the  care  and  solicitude  of  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HAS    AX   INTRODUCTORY   ACCOUNT   OF    THE    INMATES    OF 
THE   HOUSE   TO   WHICH   OLIVER   RESORTED. 

IN  a  handsome  room,  though  its  furniture  had 
rather  the  air  of  old-fashioned  comfort  than  of 
modern  elegance,  there  sat  two  ladies  at  a  well- 
spread  breakfast-table.  Mr.  Giles,  dressed  with  scru 
pulous  care  in  a  full  suit  of  black,  was  in  attendance 
upon  them.  He  had  taken  his  station  some  half-way 
between  the  sideboard  and  the  breakfast-table ;  and, 
with  his  body  drawn  up  to  its  full  height,  his  head 
thrown  back,  and  inclined  the  merest  trifle  on  one 
side,  his  left  leg  advanced,  and  his  right  hand  thrust 
into  his  waistcoat,  while  his  left  hung  down  by  his 
side,  grasping  a  waiter,  looked  like  one  who  labored 
under  a  very  agreeable  sense  of  his  own  merits  and 
importance. 

Of  the  two  ladies,  one  was  well  advanced  in  years ; 
but  the  high-backed  oaken  chair  in  which  she  sat 
was  not  more  upright  than  she.  Dressed  with  the 
utmost  nicety  and  precision,  in  a  quaint  mixture  of 
by -gone  costume,  with  some  slight  concessions  to 
the  prevailing  taste,  which  rather  served  to  point 


the  old  style  pleasantly  than  to  impair  its  effect,  she 
sat,  in  a  stately  manner,  with  her  hands  folded  on 
the  table  before  her.  Her  eyes  (and  age  had  dimmed 
but  little  of  their  brightness)  were  attentively  fixed 
upon  her  young  companion. 

The  younger  lady  was  in  the  lovely  bloom  and 
spring-time  of  womanhood;  at  that  age  when,  if 
ever  angels  be  for  God's  good  purposes  enthroned 
in  mortal  forms,  they  may  be,  without  impiety,  sup 
posed  to  abide  in  such  as  hers. 

•  She  was  not  past  seventeen.  Cast  in  so  slight 
and  exquisite  a  mould ;  so  mild  and  gentle ;  so  pure 
and  beautiful ;  that  earth  seemed  not  her  element, 
nor  its  rough  creatures  her  fit  companions.  The 
very  intelligence  that  shone  in  her  deep  blue  eye, 
and  was  stamped  upon  her  noble  head,  seemed  scarce 
ly  of  her  age,  or  of  the  world ;  and  yet  the  changing 
expression  of  sweetness  and  good-humor,  the  thou 
sand  lights  that  played  about  the  face,  and  left  no 
shadow  there ;  above  all,  the  smile,  the  cheerful, 
happy  smile,  were  made  for  Home,  and  fireside  peace 
and  happiness. 

She  was  busily  engaged  in  the  little  offices  of  the 
table.  Chancing  to  raise  her  eyes  as  the  elder  lady 
was  regarding  her,  she  playfully  put  back  her  hair, 
which  was  simply  braided  on  her  forehead,  and 
threw  into  her  beaming  look  such  an  expression  of 
affection  and  artless  loveliness,  that  blessed  spirits 
might  have  smiled  to  look  upon  her. 

"  And  Brittles  has  been  gone  upward  of  an  hour, 
has  he  f"  asked  the  old  lady,  after  a  pause. 

"  An  hour  and  twelve  minutes,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr. 
Giles,  referring  to  a  silver  watch,  which  he  drew  forth 
by  a  black  ribbon. 

"  He  is  always  slow,"  remarked  the  old  lady. 

"  Brittles  always  was  a  slow  boy,  ma'am,"  replied 
the  attendant.  And  seeing,  by-the-bye,  that  Brittles 
had  been  a  slow  boy  for  upward  of  thirty  years,  there 
appeared  no  great  probability  of  his  ever  being  a 
fast  one. 

"  He  gets  worse  instead  of  better,  I  think,"  said 
the  elder  lady. 

"  It  is  very  inexcusable  in  him  if  he  stops  to  play 
with  any  other  boys,"  said  the  young  lady,  smiling. 

Mr.  Giles  was  apparently  considering  the  proprie 
ty  of  indulging  in  a  respectful  smile  himself,  when  a 
gig  drove  up  to  the  garden-gate,  out  of  which  there 
jumped  a  fat  gentleman,  who  ran  straight  up  to  the 
door ;  and  who,  getting  quickly  into  the  house  by 
some  mysterious  process,  burst  into  the  room,  and 
nearly  overturned  Mr.  Giles  and  the  breakfast-table 
together. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing !"  exclaimed  the 
fat  gentleman.  "  My  dear  Mrs.  May  lie  —  bless  my 
soul — in  the  silence  of  night,  too — I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing !" 

With  these  expressions  of  condolence,  the  fat  gen 
tleman  shook  hands  with  both  ladies,  and,  drawing 
up  a  chair,  inquired  how  they  found  themselves. 

"  You  ought  to  be  dead,  positively  dead  with  the 
fright,"  said  the  fat  gentleman.  "  Why  didn't  you 
send  ?  Bless  me,  my  man  should  have  come  in  a 
minute ;  and  so  would  I ;  and  my  assistant  would 
have  been  delighted ;  or  any  body,  I'm  sure,  under 
such  circumstances.  Dear,  dear!  So  unexpected! 
In  the  silence  of  night,  too !" 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


The  doctor  seemed  especially  troubled  by  the  fact 
of  the  robbery  having  been  unexpected,  and  at 
tempted  in  the  night-time ;  as  if  it  were  the  estab 
lished  custom  of  gentlemen  in  the  house-breaking 
way  to  transact  business  at  noon,  and  to  make  an 
appointment,  by  post,  a  day  or  two  previous. 

"  And  you,  Miss  Rose,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  to 
the  young  lady,  "  I — " 

"  Oh !  very  much  so,  indeed,"  said  Rose,  interrupt 
ing  him;  "but  there  is  a  poor  creature  up  stairs 
whom  aunt  wishes  you  to  see." 

"  Ah !  to  be  sure,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  so  there  is. 
That  was  your  handiwork,  Giles,  I  understand." 

Mr.  Giles,  who  had  been  feverishly  putting  the 
tea-cups  to  rights,  blushed  very  red,  and  said  that 
he  had  had  that  honor. 

"Honor,  eh?"  said  the  doctor;  "well,  I  don't 
know ;  perhaps  it's  as  honorable  to  hit  a  thief  in  a 
back  kitchen  as  to  hit  your  man  at  twelve  paces. 
Fancy  that  he  fired  in  the  air,  and  you've  fought  a 
duel,  Giles." 

Mr.  Giles,  who  thought  this  light  treatment  of  the 
matter  an  unjust  attempt  at  diminishing  his  glory, 
answered  respectfully,  that  it  was  not  for  the  like 
of  him  to  judge  about  that ;  but  he  rather  thought 
it  was  no  joke  to  the  opposite  party. 

"Gad,  that's  true!"  said  the  doctor.  "Where  is 
he?  Show  me  the  way.  I'll  look  in  again,  as  I 
come  down,  Mrs.  Maylie.  That's  the  little  window 
that  he  got  in  at,  eh  ?  Well,  I  couldn't  have  be 
lieved  it !" 

Talking  all  the  way,  he  followed  Mr.  Giles  up 
stairs ;  and  while  he  is  going  up  stairs,  the  reader 
may  be  informed  that  Mr.  Losberne,  a  surgeon  in 
the  neighborhood,  known  through  a  circuit  of  ten 
miles  round  as  "  the  doctor,"  had  grown  fat,  more 
from  good  humor  than  from  good  living ;  and  was 
as  kind  and  hearty,  and  withal  as  eccentric  an  old 
bachelor,  as  will  be  found  in  five  times  that  space 
by  any  explorer  alive. 

The  doctor  was  absent  much  longer  than  either 
he  or  the  ladies  had  anticipated.  A  large  flat  box 
was  fetched  out  of  the  gig ;  and  a  bedroom  bell  was 
rung  very  often ;  and  the  servants  ran  up  and  down 
stairs  perpetually ;  from  which  tokens  it  was  justly 
concluded  that  something  important  was  going  on 
above.  At  length  he  returned  ;  and  in  reply  to  an 
anxious  inquiry  after  his  patient,  looked  very  mys 
terious,  and  closed  the  door  carefully. 

"  This  is  a  very  extraordinary  thing,  Mrs.  Maylie," 
said  the  doctor,  standing  with-  his  back  to  the  door, 
as  if  to  keep  it  shut. 

"  He  is  not  in  danger,  I  hope  ?"  said  the  old  lady. 

"Why,  that  would  not  be  an  extraordinary  thing, 
under  the  circumstances,"  replied  the  doctor; 
"though  I  don't  think  he  is.  Have  you  seen  this 
thief?" 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  old  lady. 

"  Nor  heard  any  thing  about  him  ?" 

"No." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  interposed  Mr.  Giles ; 
"  but  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  him  when  Doctor 
Losberne  came  in." 

The  fact  was,  that  Mr.  Giles  had  not,  at  first,  been 
able  to  bring  his  mind  to  the  avowal  that  he  had 
only  shot  a  boy.  Such  commendations  had  been  be 


stowed  upon  his  bravery,  that  he  could  not,  for  the 
life  of  him,  help  postponing  the  explanation  for  a 
few  delicious  minutes ;  during  which  he  had  flour 
ished  in  the  very  zenith  of  a  brief  reputation  for  un 
daunted  courage. 

"  Rose  wished  to  see  the  man,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie, 
"  but  J  wouldn't  hear  of  it." 

"Humph !"  rejoined  the  doctor.  "There  is  noth 
ing  very  alarming  in  his  appearance.  Have  you 
any  objection  to  see  him  in  my  presence  ?" 

"  If  it  be  necessary,"  replied  the  old  lady,  "  cer 
tainly  not." 

"  Then  I  think  it  is  necessary,"  said  the  doctor ; 
"  at  all  events,  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  would  deep 
ly  regret  not  having  done  so  if  you  postponed  it. 
He  is  perfectly  quiet  and  comfortable  now.  Allow 
me — Miss  Rose,  will  you  permit  me  ?  Not  the  slight 
est  fear,  I  pledge  you  my  honor !" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

RELATES    WHAT    OLIVER'S    NEW   VISITORS    THOUGHT    OF 
HIM. 

WITH  many  loquacious  assurances  that  they 
would  be  agreeably  surprised  in  the  aspect  of 
the  criminal,  the  doctor  drew  the  young  lady's  arm 
through  one  of  his;  and  offering  his  disengaged 
hand  to  Mrs.  Maylie,  led  them,  with  much  ceremony 
and  stateliness,  up  stairs. 

"  Now,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  whisper,  as  he  softly 
turned  the  handle  of  the  bedroom-door,  "  let  us  hear 
what  you  think  of  him.  He  has  not  been  shaved 
very  recently,  but  he  don't  look  at  all  ferocious,  not 
withstanding.  Stop,  though !  Let  me  first  see  that 
he  is  in  visiting-order." 

Stepping  before  them,  he  looked  into  the  room. 
Motioning  them  to  advance,  he  closed  the  door  when 
they  had  entered,  and  gently  drew  back  the  cur 
tains  of  the  bed.  Upon  it,  in  lieu  of  the  dogged, 
black-visaged  ruffian  they  had  expected  to  behold, 
there  lay  a  mere  child :  worn  with  pain  and  exhaus 
tion,  and  sunk  into  a  deep  sleep.  His  wounded  arm, 
bound  and  splintered  up,  was  crossed  iipou  his  breast ; 
his  head  reclined  upon  the  oth,er  arm,  which  was  half 
hidden  by  his  long  hair,  as  it  streamed  over  the  pillow. 

The  honest  gentleman  held  the  curtain  in  his 
hand,  and  looked  on  for  a  minute  or  so  in  silence. 
While  he  was  watching  the  patient  thus,  the  younger 
lady  glided  softly  past,  and  seating  herself  in  a  chair 
by  the  bedside,  gathered  Oliver's  hair  from  his  face. 
As  she  stooped  over  him,  her  tears  fell  upon  his  fore 
head. 

The  boy  stirred,  and  smiled  in  his  sleep,  as  though 
these  marks  of  pity  and  compassion  had  awakened 
some  pleasant  dream  of  a  love  and  affection  he  had 
never  known.  Thus,  a  strain  of  gentle  music,  or  the 
rippling  of  water  in  a  silent  place,  or  the  odor  of  a 
flower,  or  the  mention  of  a  familiar  word,  will  some 
times  call  up  sudden  dim  remembrances  of  scenes 
that  never  were,  in  this  life ;  which  vanish  like  a 
breath ;  which  some  brief  memory  of  a  happier  ex 
istence,  long  gone  by,  would  seem  to  have  awakened ; 
which  no  voluntary  exertion  of  the  mind  can  ever 
recall. 


THE  DOCTOR  PRESCRIBES. 


93 


"  What  can  this  mean  f '  exclaimed  the  elder  lady. 
"  This  poor  child  can  never  have  been  the  pupil  of 
robbers !" 

"  Vice,"  sighed  the  surgeon,  replacing  the  curtain, 
"  takes  up  her  abode  in  many  temples ;  and  who  can 
say  that  a  fair  outside  shall  not  enshrine  her  ?" 

"  But  at  so  early  an  age !"  urged  Rose. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  rejoined  the  surgeon, 
mournfully  shaking  his  head ;  "  crime,  like  death,  is 
not  confined  to  the  old  and  withered  alone.  The 
youngest  and  fairest  are  too  often  its  chosen  vic 
tims." 

"  But  can  you — oh !  can  you  really  believe  that 
this  delicate  boy  has  been  the  voluntary  associate  of 
the  worst  outcasts  of  society?"  said  Rose. 

The  surgeon  shook  his  head,  in  a  manner  which 
intimated  that  he  feared  it  was  very  possible  ;  and 
observing  that  they  might  disturb  the  patient,  led 
the  way  into  an  adjoining  apartment. 

"  But  even  if  he  has  been  wicked,"  pursued  Rose, 
"think  how  young  he  is;  think  that  he  may  never 
have  known  a  mother's  love,  or  the  comfort  of  a 
home  ;  that  ill-usage  and  blows,  or  the  want  of  bread, 
may  have  driven  him  to  herd  with  men  who  have 
forced  him  to  guilt.  Aunt,  dear  aunt,  for  mercy's 
sake,  think  of  this,  before  you  let  them  drag  this 
sick  child  to  a  prison,  which  in  any  case  must  be  the 
grave  of  all  his  chances  of  amendment.  Oh !  as  you 
love  me,  and  know  that  I  have  never  felt  the  want 
of  parents  in  your  goodness  and  affection,  but  that 
I  might  have  done  so,  and  might  have  been  equally 
helpless  and  unprotected  with  this  poor  child,  have 
pity  upon  him  before  it  is  too  late !" 

"  My  dear  love,"  said  the  elder  lady,  as  she  folded 
the  weeping  girl  to  her  bosom,  "do  you  think  I 
would  harm  a  hair  of  his  head  f 

"  Oh,  no !"  replied  Rose,  eagerly. 

"No,  surely,"  said  the  old  lady;  "my  days  are 
drawing  to  their  close ;  and  may  mercy  be  shown  to 
me  as  I  show  it  to  others !  What  can  I  do  to  save 
him,  sir  ?" 

"  Let  me  think,  ma'am,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  let  me 
think." 

Mr.  Losberne  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
and  took  several  turns  up  and  down  the  room ;  often 
stopping,  and  balancing  himself  on  his  toes,  and 
frowning  frightfully.  After  various  exclamations 
of  "I've  got  it  now,"  and  "no,  I  haven't,"  and  as 
many  renewals  of  the  walking  and  frowning,  he  at 
length  made  a  dead  halt,  and  spoke  as  follows : 

"  I  think  if  you  give  me  a  full  and  unlimited  com 
mission  to  bully  Giles,  and  that  little  boy  Brittles,  I 
can  manage  it.  Giles  is  a  faithful  fellow  and  an  old 
servant,  I  know ;  but  you  can  make  it  up  to  him  in 
a  thousand  ways,  and  reward  him  for  being  such  a 
good  shot  besides.  You  don't  object  to  that  ?" 

"  Unless  there  is  some  other  way  of  preserving  the 
child,"  replied  Mrs.  Maylie. 

"  There  is  no  other,"  said  the  doctor.  "  No  other, 
take  my  word  for  it." 

"  Then  my  aunt  invests  you  with  full  power,"  said 
Rose,  smiling  through  her  tears ;  "  but  pray  don't  be 
harder  upon  the  poor  fellows  than  is  indispensably 
necessary.7' 

"  You  seem  to  think,"  retorted  the  doctor,  "  that 
every  body  is  disposed  to  be  hard-hearted  to-day,  ex 


cept  yourself,  Miss  Rose.  I  only  hope,  for  the  sake 
of  the  rising  male  sex  generally,  that  you  may  be 
found  in  as  vulnerable  and  soft-hearted  a  mood  by 
the  first  eligible  young  fellow  who  appeals  to  your 
compassion ;  and  I  wish  I  were  a  young  fellow,  that 
I  might  avail  myself  on  the  spot  of  such  a  favora 
ble  opportunity  for  doing  so  as  the  present." 

"  You  are  as  great  a  boy  as  poor  Brittles  himself," 
returned  Rose,  blushing. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing  heartily,  "  that 
is  no  very  difficult  matter.  But  to  return  to  this 
boy.  The  great  point  of  our  agreement  is  yet  to 
come.  He  will  wake  in  an  hour  or  so,  I  dare  say ; 
and  although  I  have  told  that  thick-headed  consta 
ble  fellow  down  stairs  that  he  mustn't  be  moved  or 
spoken  to,  on  peril  of  his  life,  I  think  we  may  con 
verse  with  him  without  danger.  Now  I  make  this 
stipulation — that  I  shall  examine  him  in  your  pres 
ence,  and  that  if,  from  what  he  says,  we  judge,  and  I 
can  show  to  the  satisfaction  of  your  cool  reason,  that 
he  is  a  real  and  thorough  bad  one  (which  is  more 
than  possible),  he  shall  be  left  to  his  fate,  without 
any  further  interference  on  my  part,  at  all  events." 

"  Oh  no,  aunt !"  entreated  Rose. 

"  Oh  yes,  aunt !"  said  the  doctor.  "  Is  it  a  bar 
gain!" 

"  He  can  not  be  hardened  in  vice,"  said  Rose.  "  It 
is  impossible." 

"  Very  good,"  retorted  the  doctor ;  "  then  so  much 
the  more  reason  for  acceding  to  my  proposition." 

Finally  the  treaty  was  entered  into  ;  and  the  par 
ties  thereunto  sat  down  to  wait,  with  some  impa 
tience,  until  Oliver  should  awake. 

The  patience  of  the  two  ladies  was  destined  to  un 
dergo  a  longer  trial  than  Mr.  Losberne  had  led  them 
to  expect ;  for  hour  after  hour  passed  on,  and  still 
Oliver  slumbered  heavily.  It  was  evening,  indeed, 
before  the  kind-hearted  doctor  brought  them  the  in 
telligence  that  he  was  at  length  sufficiently  restored 
to  be  spoken  to.  The  boy  was  very  ill,  he  said,  and 
weak  from  the  loss  of  blood ;  but  his  mind  was  so 
troubled  with  anxiety  to  disclose  something,  that  he 
deemed  it  better  to  give  him  the  opportunity,  than 
to  insist  upon  his  remaining  quiet  until  next  morn 
ing,  which  he  should  otherwise  have  done. 

The  conference  was  a  long  one.  Oliver  told  them 
all  his  simple  history,  and  was  often  compelled  to 
stop,  by  pain  and  want  of  strength.  It  was  a  sol 
emn  thing  to  hear,  in  the  darkened  room,  the  feeble 
voice  of  the  sick  child  recounting  a  weary  catalogue 
of  evils  and  calamities  which  hard  men  had  brought 
upon  him.  Oh !  if  when  we  oppress  and  grind  our 
fellow-creatures,  we  bestowed  but  one  thought  on 
the  dark  evidences  of  human  error,  which,  like  dense 
and  heavy  clouds,  are  rising,  slowly,  it  is  true,  but 
not  less  surely,  to  Heaven,  to  pour  their  after-ven 
geance  on  our  heads  ;  if  we  heard  but  one  instant, 
in  imagination,  the  deep  testimony  of  dead  men's 
voices,  which  no  power  can  stifle,  and  no  pride  shut 
out ;  where  would  be  the  injury  and  injustice,  the 
suffering,  misery,  cruelty,  and  wrong,  that  each  day's 
life  brings  with  it ! 

Oliver's  pillow  was  smoothed  by  gentle  hands  that 
night;  and  loveliness  and  virtue  watched  him  ;is  In- 
slept.  He  felt  calm  and  happy,  and  could  have  died 
without  a  murmur. 


94 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


The  momentous  interview  was  no  sooner  concluded, 
and  Oliver  composed  to  rest  again,  than  the  doctor, 
after  wiping  his  eyes,  and  condemning  them  for  be 
ing  weak  all  at  once,  betook  himself  down  stairs  to 
open  upon  Mr.  Giles.  And  finding  nobody  about 
the  parlors,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  perhaps 
originate  the  proceedings  with  better  effect  in  the 
kitchen ;  so  into  the  kitchen  he  went. 

There  were  assembled,  in  that  lower  house  of  the 
domestic  Parliament,  the  women-servants,  Mr.  Brit- 
ties,  Mr.  Giles,  the  tinker  (who  had  received  a  special 
invitation  to  regale  himself  for  the  remainder  of  the 
day,  in  consideration  of  his  services),  and  the  consta 
ble.  The  latter  gentleman  had  a  large  staff,  a  large 
head,  large  features,  and  large  half-boots ;  and  he 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  taking  a  proportionate  al 
lowance  of  ale — as  indeed  he  had. 

The  adventures  of  the  previous  night  were  still 
under  discussion  ;  for  Mr.  Giles  was  expatiating  upon 
his  presence  of  iniud,  when  the  doctor  entered ;  Mr. 
Brittles,  with  a  mug  of  ale  in  his  hand,  was  corrob 
orating  every  thing,  before  his  superior  said  it. 

"  Sit  still !"  said  the  doctor,  waving  his  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Giles.  "  Misses  wished 
some  ale  to  be  given  out,  sir ;  and  as  I  felt  no  ways 
inclined  for  my  own  little  room,  sir,  and  was  disposed 
for  company,  I  am  taking  mine  among  'em  here." 

Brittles  headed  a  low  murmur,  by  which  the  la 
dies  and  gentlemen  generally  were  understood  to  ex 
press  the  gratification  they  derived  from  Mr.  Giles's 
condescension.  Mr.  Giles  looked  round  with  a  pat 
ronizing  air,  as  much  as  to  say  that,  so  long  as  they 
behaved  properly,  he  would  never  desert  them. 

"  How  is  the  patient  to-night,  sir  ?"  asked  Giles. 

"  So-so  ;"  returned  the  doctor.  "  I  am  afraid  you 
have  got  yourself  into  a  scrape  there,  Mr.  Giles." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  say,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Giles,  trembling,  "that  he's  going  to  die.  If  I 
thought  it,  I  should  never  be  happy  again.  I  wouldn't 
cut  a  boy  off — no,  not  even  Brittles  here — not  for  all 
the  plate  in  the  county,  sir." 

"  That's  not  the  point,"  said  the  doctor,  mysterious 
ly.  "  Mr.  Giles,  are  you  a  Protestant  f ' 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  hope  so,"  faltered  Mr.  Giles,  who  had 
turned  very  pale. 

"And  what  are  you,  boy?"  said  the  doctor,  turning 
sharply  upon  Brittles. 

"  Lord  bless  me,  sir !"  replied  Brittles,  starting  vio 
lently  ;  "  I'm — the  same  as  Mr.  Giles,  sir." 

"Then  tell  me  this,"  said  the  doctor,  "both  of 
you,  both  of  yon !  Are  you  going  to  take  upon  your 
selves  to  swear  that  that  boy  up  stairs  is  the  boy 
that  was  put  through  the  little  window  last  night  ? 
Out  with  it !  Come !  We  are  prepared  for  you !" 

The  doctor,  who  was  universally  considered  one 
of  the  best-tempered  creatures  on  earth,  made  this 
demand  in  such  a  dreadful  tone  of  anger,  that  Giles 
and  Brittles,  who  were  considerably  muddled  by  ale 
and  excitement,  stared  at  each  other  in  a  state  of 
stupefaction. 

"  Pay  attention  to  the  reply,  constable,  will  you  ?" 
said  the  doctor,  shaking  his  forefinger  with  great 
solemnity  of  manner,  and  tapping  the  bridge  of  his 
nose  with  it,  to  bespeak  the  exercise  of  that  worthy's 
utmost  acuteness.  "  Something  may  come  of  this 
before  long." 


The  constable  looked  as  wise  as  he  could,  and  took 
up  his  staff  of  office,  which  had  been  reclining  indo 
lently  in  the  chimney-corner. 

"  It's  a  simple  question  of  identity,  you  will  ob 
serve,"  said  the  doctor. 

"That's  what  it  is,  sir,"  replied  the  constable, 
coughing  with  great  violence;  for  he  had  finished 
his  ale  in  a  hurry,  and  some  of  it  had  gone  the  wrong 
way. 

"  Here's  a  house  broken  into,"  said  the  doctor, 
".and  a  couple  of  men  catch  one  moment's  glimpse 
of  a  boy,  in  the  midst  of  gunpowder-smoke,  and  in 
all  the  distraction  of  alarm  and  darkness.  Here's  a 
boy  comes  to  that  very  same  house  next  morning, 
and  because  he  happens  to  have  his  arm  tied  up, 
these  men  lay  violent  hands  upon  him— by  doing 
which,  they  place  his  life  in  great  danger  —  and 
s\.'ear  he  is  the  thief.  Now  the  question  is,  whether 
these  men  are  justified  by  the  fact ;  if  not,  in  what 
situation  do  they  place  themselves  ?" 

The  constable  nodded  profoundly.  He  said,  if 
that  wasn't  law,  he  would  be  glad  to  know  what 
was. 

"  I  ask  you  again,"  thundered  the  doctor,  "  are 
you,  on  your  solemn  oaths,  able  to  identify  that 
boy  ?" 

Brittles  looked  doubtfully  at  Mr.  Giles ;  Mr.  Giles 
looked  doubtfully  at  Brittles;  the  constable  put  his 
hand  behind  his  ear  to  catch  the  reply ;  the  two 
women  and  the  tinker  leaned  forward  to  listen ;  the 
doctor  glanced  keenly  round ;  when  a  ring  was  heard 
at  the  gate,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  sound  of 
wheels. 

"  It's  the  runners !"  cried  Brittles,  to  all  appearance 
much  relieved. 

"  The  what  ?"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  aghast,  in  his 
turn. 

"The  Bow  Street  officers,  sir,"  replied  Brittles, 
taking  up  a  candle ;  "  me  and  Mr.  Giles  sent  for  'em 
this  morning." 

"  What  ?"  cried  the  doctor. 

"Yes,"  replied  Brittles;  "I  sent  a  message  up  by 
the  coachman,  and  I  only  wonder  they  weren't  here 
before,  sir." 

"  You  did,  did  you  ?  Then  confound  your — slow 
coaches  down  here ;  that's  all,"  said  the  doctor,  walk 
ing  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

INVOLVES  A    CRITICAL  POSITION. 

"  TTTHO'S  that  ?"  inquired  Brittles,  opening  the 

V  V  door  a  little  way  writh  the  chain  up,  and  peep 
ing  out,  shading  the  candle  with  his  hand. 

"  Open  the  door,"  replied  a  man  outside ;  "  it's  the 
officers  from  Bow  Street  as  was  sent  to  to-day." 

Much  comforted  by  this  assurance,  Brittles  opeued 
the  door  to  its  full  width  and  confronted  a  portly 
man  in  a  great-coat,  who  walked  in  without  saying 
any  thing  more,  and  wiped  his  shoes  on  the  mat  as 
coolly  as  if  he  lived  there. 

"  Just  send  somebody  out  to  relieve  my  mate,  will 
you,  young  man  ?"  said  the  officer ;  "  he's  in  the  gig, 
a-miiiding  the  prad.  Have  you  got  a  coach-'us  here 
that  you  could  put  it  up  in  for  five  or  ten  minutes  f ' 


TUE  BOW  STREET  OFFICERS. 


95 


Brittles  replying  in  the  affirmative,  and  pointing 
out  the  building,  the  portly  man  stepped  back  to  the 
garden-gate  and  helped  his  companion  to  put  up  the 
gig,  while  Brittles  lighted  them,  in  a  state  of  great 
admiration.  This  done,  they  returned  to  the  house, 
and,  being  shown  into  a  parlor,  took  off  their  great 
coats  and  hats,  and  showed  like  what  they  were. 

The  man  who  had  knocked  at  the  door  was  a  stout 
personage  of  middle  height,  aged  about  fifty,  with 
shiny  black  hair  cropped  pretty  close,  half-whiskers, 
a  round  face,  and  sharp  eyes.  The  other  was  a  red 
headed,  bony  man  in  top-boots,  with  a  rather  ill-fa 
vored  countenance,  and  a  turned -up,  sinister -look 
ing  nose. 

"  Tell  your  governor  that  Blathers  and  Duff  Is  here, 


several  muscular  affections  of  the  limbs,  and  forced 
the  head  of  his  stick  into  his  mouth,  with  some  em 
barrassment. 

"  Now,  with  regard  to  this  here  robbery,  master," 
said  Blathers.  "  What  are  the  circumstances  ?" 

Mr.  Losberne,  who  appeared  desirous  of  gaining 
time,  recounted  them  at  great  length,  and  with  much 
circumlocution.  Messrs.  Blathers  and  Duff  looked 
very  knowing  meanwhile,  and  occasionally  ex 
changed  a  nod. 

"I  can't  say  for  certain  till  I  see  the  work,  of 
course,"  said  Blathers ;  "  but  my  opinion  at  once  is 
— I  don't  mind  committing  myself  to  that  extent — 
that  this  wasn't  done  by  a  yokel — eh,  Duff?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Duff. 


"JUST  SEMD   SOMEBODY   OUT  TO  BELIEVE  MY   MATE,  WILL   YOU,  YOUNG  MAS  f '' 


will  you?"  said  the  stouter  man,  smoothing  down 
hi.s  hair,  and  laying  a  pair  of  handcuffs  on  the  table. 
"  Oh !  good-evening,  master.  Can  I  have  a  word  or 
two  with  you  in  private,  if  you  please  ?" 

This  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Losberne,  who  now 
made  his  appearance ;  that  gentleman,  motioning 
Brittles  to  retire,  brought  in  the  two  ladies  and  shut 
the,  door. 

"  This  is  the  lady  of  the  house,"  said  Mr.  Losberne, 
motioning  toward  Mrs.  Maylie. 

Mr.  Blathers  made  a  bow.  Being  desired  to  sit 
down,  he  put  his  hat  on  the  floor,  and,  taking  a  chair, 
motioned  Duff  to  do  the  same.  The  latter  gentle 
man,  who  did  not  appear  quite  so  much  accustomed 
to  good  society,  or  quite  so  much  at  his  ease  in  it — 
one  of  the  two  —  seated  himself,  after  undergoing 


"And  translating  the  word  yokel  for  the  benefit 
of  the  ladies,  I  apprehend  your  meaning  to  be,  that 
this  attempt  was  not  made  by  a  countryman  ?"  said 
Mr.  Losberne,  with  a  smile. 

"  That's  it,  master,"  replied  Blathers.  "  This  is  all 
about  the  robbery,  is  it  ?" 

"All,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  Now,  what  is  this  about  this  here  boy  that  the 
servants  are  a-talking  on  ?"  said  Blathers. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  One  of  the 
frightened  servants  chose  to  take  it  into  his  head 
that  he  had  something  to  do  with  this  attempt  to 
break  into  the  house;  but  it's  nonsense,  sheer  ab 
surdity." 

"Wery  easy  disposed  of,  if  it  is,"  remarked  Duff. 

"What  he  says  is  quite  correct,"  observed  Blath- 


96 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


ers,  nodding  his  head  in  a  confirmatory  way,  and 
playing  carelessly  with  the  handcuffs  as  if  they  were 
a  pair  of  castanets.  "  Who  is  the  boy  ?  What  ac 
count  does  he  give  of  himself  ?  Where  did  he  come 
from?  He  didn't  drop  out  of  the  clouds,  did  he, 
master  ?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a  nerv 
ous  glance  at  the  two  ladies.  "  I  know  his  whole 
history ;  hut  we  can  talk  about  that  presently.  You 
would  like  first  to  see  the  place  where  the  thieves 
made  their  attempt,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Certainly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Blathers.  "We  had 
better  inspect  the  premises  first,  and  examine  the 
servants  arterward.  That's  the  usual  way  of  doing 
business." 

Lights  were  then  procured ;  and  Messrs.  Blathers 
and  Duff,  attended  by  the  native  constable,  Brittles, 
Giles,  and  every  body  else,  in  short,  went  into  the  lit- 
cle  room  at  the  end  of  the  passage  and  looked  out  at 
the  Avindow,  and  afterward  went  round  by  way  of 
the  lawn  and  looked  in  at  the  window;  and  after 
that,  had  a  caudle  handed  out  to  inspect  the  shutter 
with ;  and  after  that,  a  lantern  to  trace  the  footsteps 
with ;  and  after  that,  a  pitchfork  to  poke  the  bushes 
with.  This  done,  amidst  the  breathless  interest  of 
all  beholders,  they  came  in  again;  and  Mr.  Giles 
and  Brittles  were  put  through  a  melodramatic  repre 
sentation  of  their  share  in  the  previous  night's  ad 
ventures,  which  they  performed  some  six  times  over, 
contradicting  each  other  in  not  more  than  one  im 
portant  respect  the  first  time,  and  in  not  more  than 
a  dozen  the  last.  This  consummation  being  arrived 
at,  Blathers  and  Duff  cleared  the  room  and  held  a 
long  council  together,  compared  with  which,  for  se 
crecy  and  solemnity,  a  consultation  of  great  doctors 
on  the  knottiest  point  in  medicine  would  be  mere 
child's  play. 

Meanwhile,  the  doctor  walked  up  and  down  the 
next  room  in  a  very  uneasy  state,  and  Mrs.  Maylie 
and  Rose  looked  on  with  anxious  faces. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  making  a  halt  after  a 
great  number  of  very  rapid  turns,  "  I  hardly  know 
what  to  do." 

"  Surely,"  said  Eose,  "  the  poor  child's  story,  faith 
fully  repeated  to  these  men,  will  be  sufficient  to  ex 
onerate  him." 

"  I  doubt  it,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  doctor, 
shaking  his  head.  "  I  don't  think  it  would  exoner 
ate  him,  either  with  them  or  with  legal  functionaries 
of  a  higher  grade.  What  is  he,  after  all,  they  would 
say  ?  A  runaway.  Judged  by  mere  worldly  con 
siderations  and  probabilities,  his  story  is  a  very 
doubtful  one." 

"  You  believe  it,  surely  ?"  interrupted  Rose. 

"  /  believe  it,  strange  as  it  is ;  and  perhaps  I  may 
be  an  old  fool  for  doing  so,"  rejoined  the  doctor; 
"  but  I  don't  think  it  is  exactly  the  tale  for  a  prac 
ticed  police  officer,  nevertheless." 

"  Why  not  ?"  demanded  Rose. 

"  Because,  my  pretty  cross-examiner,"  replied  the 
doctor,  "  because,  viewed  with  their  eyes,  there  are 
many  ugly  points  about  it ;  he  can  only  prove  the 
parts  that  look  ill,  and  none  of  those  that  look  well. 
Confound  the  fellows,  they  will  have  the  why  and 
the  wherefore,  and  will  take  nothing  for  granted. 
On  his  own  showing,  you  see,  he  has  been  the  com 


panion  of  thieves  for  some  time  past ;  he  has  been 
carried  to  a  police-office  on  a  charge  of  picking  a 
gentleman's  pocket ;  he  has  been  taken  away  forci 
bly  from  that  gentleman's  house  to  a  place  which  he 
can  not  describe  or  point  out,  and  of  the  situation  of 
which  he  has  not  the  remotest  idea.  He  is  brought 
down  to  Chertsey  by  men  who  seem  to  have  taken 
a  violent  fancy  to  him,  whether  he  will  or  no,  and  is 
put  through  a  window  to  rob  a  house;  and  then, 
just  at  the  very  moment  when  he  is  going  to  alarm 
the  inmates,  and  so  do  the  very  thing  that  would  set 
him  all  to  rights,  there  rushes  into  the  way  a  blun 
dering  dog  of  a  half-bred  butler  and  shoots  him !  As 
if  on  purpose  to  prevent  his  doing  any  good  for  him 
self!  Don't  you  see  all  this  ?" 

"  I  see  it,  of  course,"  replied  Rose,  smiling  at  the 
doctor's  impetuosity;  "but  still  I  do  not  see  any 
thing  in  it  to  criminate  the  poor  child." 

"  No,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  of  course  not !  Bless 
the  bright  eyes  of  your  sex !  They  never  see,  wheth 
er  for  good  or  bad,  more  than  one  side  of  any  ques 
tion  ;  and  that  is  always  the  one  which  first  presents 
itself  to  them." 

Having  given  vent  to  this  result  of  experience,  the 
doctor  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  Avalkod  up 
and  down  the  room  with  even  greater  rapidity  than 
before. 

"  The  more  I  think  of  it,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the 
more  I  see  that  it  will  occasion  endless  trouble  and 
difficulty  if  we  put  these  men  in  possession  of  the 
boy's  real  story.  I  am  certain  it  will  not  be  be 
lieved  ;  and  even  if  they  can  do  nothing  to  him  in 
the  end,  still  the  dragging  it  forward,  and  giving 
publicity  to  all  the  doubts  that  will  be  cast  upon  it, 
must  interfere  materially  with  your  benevolent  plan 
of  rescuing  him  from  misery." 

"Oh!  what  is  to  be  done?"  cried  Rose.  "Dear, 
dear !  why  did  they  send  for  these  people  ?" 

"  Why,  indeed !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maylie.  "  I  would 
not  have  had  them  here  for  the  world." 

"All  I  know  is,"  said  Mr.  Losbeme,  at  last  sitting 
down  with  a  kind  of  desperate  calmness,  "  that  we 
must  try  and  carry  it  oif  with  a  bold  face.  The  ob 
ject  is  a  good  one,  and  that  must  be  our  excuse. 
The  boy  has  strong  symptoms  of  fever  upon  him,  and 
is  in  no  condition  to  be  talked  to  any  more ;  that's 
one  comfort.  We  must  make  the  best  of  it ;  and  if 
bad  be  the  best,  it  is  no  fault  of  ours.  Come  in !" 

"  Well,  master,"  said  Blathers,  entering  the  room, 
followed  by  his  colleague,  and  making  the  door  fast 
before  he  said  any  more.  "This  warn't  a  put-up 
thing." 

"And  what  the  devil's  a  put-up  thing?"  demanded 
the  doctor,  impatiently. 

"  We  call  it  a  put-up  robbery,  ladies,"  said  Blath 
ers,  turning  to  them,  as  if  he  pitied  their  ignorance, 
but  had  a  contempt  for  the  doctor's,  "  when  the  serv 
ants  is  in  it." 

"  Nobody  suspected  them  in  this  case,"  said  Mrs. 
Maylie. 

"  Wery  likely  not,  ma'am,"  replied  Blathers ;  "  but 
they  might  have  been  in  it,  for  all  that." 

"  More  likely  on  that  wery  account,"  said  Duff. 

"  We  find  it  was  a  town  hand,"  said  Blathers,  con 
tinuing  his  report;  "for  the  style  of  work  is  first- 
rate." 


SPYERS  AND   CHICKWEED. 


97 


"  Wery  pretty  iudeed  it  is,"  remarked  Daft',  in  an 
uuder-tone. 

'•  There  was  two  of  'em  in  it,"  continued  Blathers ; 
"  and  they  had  a  boy  with  'em ;  that's  plain  from  the 
size  of  the  window.  That's  all  to  be  said  at  present. 
We'll  see  this  lad  that  you've  got  up  stairs  at  once, 
if  you  please." 

"  Perhaps  they  will  take  something  to  drink,  first, 
Mrs.  Maylie  f '  said  the  doctor,  his  face  brightening 
as  if  some  new  thought  had  occurred  to  him. 

"  Oh !  to  be  sure !"  exclaimed  Rose,  eagerly.  "  You 
shall  have  it  immediately,  if  you  will." 

"  Why,  thank  you,  miss !"  said  Blathers,  drawing 
his  coat-sleeve  across  his  mouth;  "it's  dry  work, 
this  sort  of  duty.  Any  thing  that's  handy,  miss; 
don't  put  yourself  out  of  the  way  on  our  accounts." 

"  What  shall  it  be  ?"  asked  the  doctor,  following 
the  young  lady  to  the  sideboard. 

"A  little  drop  of  spirits,  master,  if  it's  all  the 
same,"  replied  Blathers.  "  It's  a  cold  ride  from  Lon 
don,  ma'am ;  and  I  always  find  that  spirits  comes 
home  warmer  to  the  feelings." 

This  interesting  communication  was  addressed  to 
Mrs.  Maylie,  who  received  it  very  graciously.  While 
it  was  being  conveyed  to  her,  the  doctor  slipped  out 
of  the  room. 

••Ah!"  said  Mr.  Blathers;  not  holding  his  wine 
glass  by  the  stem,  but  grasping  the  bottom  between 
the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  left  hand,  and  plac 
ing  it  in  front  of  his  chest ;  "  I  have  seen  a  good 
many  pieces  of  business  like  this  in  my  time,  ladies." 

"  That  crack  down  in  the  back  lane  at  Edmonton, 
Blathers,"  said  Mr.  Duff,  assisting  his  colleague's 
memory. 

"  That  was  something  in  this  way,  warn't  it  ?"  re 
joined  Mr.  Blathers;  "that  was  done  by  Conkey 
duckweed,  that  was." 

"  You  always  gave  that  to  him,"  replied  Duff.  "  It 
was  the  Family  Pet,  I  tell  you.  Conkey  hadn't  any 
more  to  do  with  it  than  I  had." 

"  Get  out !"  retorted  Mr.  Blathers ;  "  I  know  better. 
Do  you  mind  that  time  when  Conkey  was  robbed  of 
his  money,  though  ?  What  a  start  that  was !  Bet 
ter  than  any  novel-book  /  ever  see !" 

"  What  was  that  ?"  inquired  Rose :  anxious  to  en 
courage  any  symptoms  of  good-humor  in  the  unwel 
come  visitors. 

"  It  was  a  robbery,  miss,  that  hardly  any  body 
would  have  been  down  upon,"  said  Blathers.  "  This 
here  Conkey  Chickweed — " 

"  Coukey  means  Nosey,  ma'am,"  interposed  Duff. 

"  Of  course  the  lady  knows  that,  don't  she  ?"  de 
manded  Mr.  Blathers.  "Always  interrupting,  you 
are,  partner !  This  here  Conkey  Chickweed,  miss, 
kept  a  public-house  over  Battlebridge  way,  and  he 
had  a  cellar,  where  a  good  many  young  lords  went 
to  see  cock-fighting,  and  badger-drawing,  and  that ; 
and  a  wery  intellectual  manner  the  sports  was  con 
ducted  in,  for  I've  seen  'em  off'eu.  He  warn't  one  of 
the  family  at  that  time ;  and  one  night  he  was  rob- 
bed  of  three  hundred  and  twenty-seven  guineas  in  a 
canvas  bag,  that  was  stole  out  of  his  bedroom  in  the 
dead  of  night,  by  a  tall  man  with  a  black  patch  over 
his  eye,  who  had  concealed  himself  under  the  bed, 
and  after  committing  the  robbery,  jumped  slap  out 
of  window,  which  was  only  a  storv  high.  He  was 
G 


wery  quick  about  it.  But  Conkey  was  quick,  too ; 
for  he  was  woke  by  the  noise,  and  darting  out  of 
bed,  he  fired  a  blunderbuss  arter  him,  and  roused  the 
neighborhood.  They  set  up  a  hue-aud-cry  directly, 
and  when  they  came  to  look  about  'em,  found  that 
Conkey  had  hit  the  robber ;  for  there  was  traces  of 
blood  all  the  way  to  some  palings  a  good  distance 
off ;  and  there  they  lost  'em.  However,  he  had  made 
off  with  the  blunt ;  and,  consequently,  the  name  of 
Mr.  Chickweed,  licensed  witler,  appeared  in  the  Ga 
zette  among  the  other  bankrupts ;  and  all  manner  of 
benefits  and  subscriptions,  and  I  don't  know  what 
all,  was  got  up  for  the  poor  man,  who  was  in  a  wery 
low  state  of  mind  about  his  loss,  and  went  up  and 
down  the  streets,  for  three  or  four  days,  a  pulling 
his  hair  off  in  such  a  desperate  manner  that  many 
people  was  afraid  he  might  be  going  to  make  away 
with  himself.  One  day  he  come  up  to  the  office,  all 
in  a  hurry,  and  had  a  private  interview  with  the 
magistrate,  who,  after  a  deal  of  talk,  rings  the  bell, 
and  orders  Jem  Spyers  in  (Jem  was  a  active  officer), 
and  tells  him  to  go  and  assist  Mr.  Chickweed  in  ap 
prehending  the  man  as  robbed  his  house.  'I  see 
him,  Spyers,'  said  Chickweed,  'pass  my  house  yes 
terday  morning.'  'Why  didn't  you  up,  and  collar 
him  ?'  says  Spyers.  '  I  was  so  struck  all  of  a  heap, 
that  you  might  have  fractured  my  skull  with  a  tooth 
pick,'  says  the  poor  man;  'but  we're  sure  to  have 
him ;  for  between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock  at  night  he 
passed  again.'  Spyers  no  sooner  heard  this  than  he 
put  some  clean  linen  and  a  comb  in  his  pocket,  in 
case  he  should  have  to  stop  a  day  or  two ;  and  away 
he  goes,  and  sets  himself  down  at  one  of  the  public- 
house  windows  behind  the  little  red  curtain,  with 
his  hat  on,  all  ready  to  bolt  out  at  a  moment's  no 
tice.  He  was  smoking  his  pipe  here,  late  at  night, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  Chickweed  roars  out  '  Here  he 
is!  Stop  thief !  Murder!'  Jem  Spyers  dashes  out ; 
and  there  he  sees  Chickweed,  a -tearing  down  the 
street  full  cry.  Away  goes  Spyers ;  on  goes  Chick- 
weed  ;  round  turns  the  people ;  every  body  roars  out, 
'  Thieves !'  and  Chickweed  himself  keeps  on  shouting, 
all  the  time,  like  mad.  Spyers  loses  sight  of  him  a 
minute  as  he  turns  a  corner ;  shoots  round ;  sees  a  lit 
tle  crowd ;  dives  in  ;  '  Which  is  the  man  ?'  '  D —  me !' 
says  Chickweed, '  I've  lost  him  again !'  It  was  a  re 
markable  occurrence,  but  he  warn't  to  be  seen  no 
where,  so  they  went  back  to  the  public-house.  Next 
morning,  Spyers  took  his  old  place,  and  looked  out 
from  behind  the  curtain  for  a  tall  man  with  a  black 
patch  over  his  eye,  till  his  own  two  eyes  ached  again. 
At  last  he  couldn't  help  shutting  'em,  to  ease  'em  a 
minute ;  and  the  very  moment  he  did  so,  he  hears 
Chickweed  a-roaring  out, '  Here  he  is !'  Off  he  starts 
once  more,  with  Chickweed  half  way  down  the  street 
ahead  of  him ;  and  after  twice  as  long  a  run  as  the 
yesterday's  one,  the  man's  lost  again!  This  was 
done,  once  or  twice  more,  till  one-half  the  neighbors 
gave  out  that  Mr.  Chickweed  had  been  robbed  by 
the  devil,  who  was  playing  tricks  with  him  arter- 
ward  ;  and  the  other  half,  that  poor  Mr.  Chickweed 
had  gone  mad  with  grief." 

"  What  did  Jem  Spyers  say  ?"  inquired  the  doctor ; 
who  had  returned  to  the  room  shortly  after  the  com 
mencement  of  the  story. 

"Jem  Spyers,"  resumed  the  officer,  "for  a  long 


98 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


time  said  nothing  at  all,  and  listened  to  every  thing 
without  seeming  to,  which  showed  he  understood  his 
business.  But,  one  morning,  he  walked  into  the  bar, 
and  taking  out  his  snuff-box,  says, '  Chickweed,  I've 
found  out  who  done  this  here  robbery.'  '  Have  you  ?' 
said  Chickweed.  '  Oh,  my  dear  Spyers,  only  let  me 
have  wengeauce,  and  I  shall  die  contented !  Oh,  my 
dear  Spyers,  where  is  the  villain !'  '  Come !'  said  Spy 
ers,  offering  him  a  pinch  of  snuff, '  none  of  that  gam 
mon  !  You  did  it  yourself.'  So  he  had ;  and  a  good 
bit  of  money  he  had  made  by  it,  too ;  and  nobody 
would  never  have  found  it  out,  if  he  hadn't  been  so 
precious  anxious  to  keep  up  appearances,"  said  Mr. 
Blathers,  putting  down  his  wine-glass,  and  clinking 
the  handcuffs  together. 

"  Very  curious,  indeed,"  observed  the  doctor. 
"  Now,  if  you  please,  you  can  walk  up  stairs." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Blathers.  Close 
ly  following  Mr.  Losberue,  the  two  officers  ascended 
to  Oliver's  bedroom  ;•  Mr.  Giles  preceding  the  party 
with  a  lighted  caudle. 

Oliver  had  been  dozing ;  but  looked  worse,  and 
was  more  feverish  than  he  had  appeared  yet.  Being 
assisted  by  the  doctor,  he  managed  to  sit  up  in  bed 
for  a  minute  or  so ;  and  looked  at  the  strangers  with 
out  at  all  understanding  what  was  going  forward — 
in  fact,  without  seeming  to  recollect  where  he  was, 
or  what  had  been  passing. 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Losberne,  speaking  softly,  but 
with  great  vehemence  notwithstanding,  "  this  is  the 
lad,  who,  being  accidentally  wounded  by  a  spring- 
gun  in  some  boyish  trespass  on  Mr.  What-d'ye-call- 
him's  grounds  at  the  back  here,  comes  to  the  house 
for  assistance  this  morning,  and  is  immediately  laid 
hold  of  and  maltreated  by  that  ingenious  gentleman 
with  the  candle  in  his  hand,  who  has  placed  his  life 
in  considerable  danger,  as  I  can  professionally  cer 
tify." 

Messrs.  Blathers  and  Duff  looked  at  Mr.  Giles,  as  he 
was  thus  recommended  to  their  notice.  The  bewil 
dered  butler  gazed  from  them  toward  Oliver,  and 
from  Oliver  toward  Mr.  Losberne,  with  a  most  ludi 
crous  mixture  of  fear  and  perplexity. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  deny  that,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
the  doctor,  laying  Oliver  gently  down  again. 

"  It  was  all  done  for  the — for  the  best,  sir,"  an 
swered  Giles.  "  I  am  sure  I  thought  it  was  the  boy, 
or  I  wouldn't  have  meddled  with  him.  I  am  not  of 
an  inhuman  disposition,  sir." 

"  Thought  it  was  what  boy  ?"  inquired  the  senior 
officer. 

"The  house-breaker's  boy,  sir!"  replied  Giles. 
"  They — they  certainly  had  a  boy." 

"  Well  ?  Do  you  think  so  now  ?"  inquired  Blath- 
.  ers. 

"  Think  what,  now  ?"  replied  Giles,  looking  vacant 
ly  at  his  questioner. 

"  Think  it's  the  same  boy,  Stupid-head  ?"  rejoined 
Blathers,  impatiently. 

''  1  don't  know ;  I  really  don't  know,"  said  Giles, 
with  a  rueful  countenance.  ''  I  couldn't  swear  to 
him." 

"  What  do  you  think'?"  asked  Mr.  Blathers. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  replied  poor  Giles. 
"  I  don't  think  it  is  the  boy ;  indeed,  I'm  almost  cer 
tain  that  it  isn't.  You  know  it  can't  be." 


"  Has  this  man  been  a-drinkiug,  sir  ?"  inquired 
Blathers,  turning  to  the  doctor. 

"  What  a  precious  muddle-headed  chap  you  are !" 
said  Duff,  addressing  Mr.  Giles,  with  supreme  con 
tempt. 

Mr.  Losberne  had  been  feeling  the  patient's  pulse 
during  this  short  dialogue ;  but  he  now  rose  from  the 
chair  by  the  bedside,  and  remarked,  that  if  the  offi 
cers  had  any  doubts  upon  the  subject,  they  would 
perhaps  like  to  step  into  the  next  room,  and  have 
Brittles  before  them. 

Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  they  adjourned  to  a 
neighboring  apartment,  where  Mr.  Brittles,  being 
called  in,  involved  himself  and  his  respected  superior 
in  such  a  wonderful  maze  of  fresh  contradictions  and 
impossibilities  as  tended  to  throw  no  particular  light 
on  any  thing  but  the  fact  of  his  own  strong  mysti 
fication;  except,  indeed,  his  declarations  that  he 
shouldn't  know  the  real  boy  if  he  were  put  before 
him  that  instant ;  that  he  had  only  taken  Oliver  to 
be  he,  because  Mr.  Giles  had  said  he  was ;  and  that 
Mr.  Giles  had,  five  minutes  previously,  admitted  in 
the  kitchen  that  he  began  to  be  very  much  afraid  he 
had  been  a  little  too  hasty. 

Among  other  ingenious  surmises,  the  question  was 
then  raised,  whether  Mr.  Giles  had  really  hit  any 
body ;  and  upon  examination  of  the  fellow  pistol  to 
that  which  he  had  fired,  it  turned  out  to  have  no 
more  destructive  loading  than  gunpowder  and  brown 
paper :  a  discovery  which  made  a  considerable  im 
pression  on  every  body  but  the  doctor,  who  had  drawn 
the  ball  about  ten  minutes  before.  Upon  no  one,  how 
ever,  did  it  make  a  greater  impression  than  on  Mr. 
Giles  himself;  who,  after  laboring,  for  some  hours, 
under  the  fear  of  having  mortally  wounded  a  fellow- 
creature,  eagerly  caught  at  this  new  idea,  and  favored 
it  to  the  utmost.  Finally,  the  officers,  without  trou 
bling  themselves  very  much  about  Oliver,  left  the 
Chertsey  constable  in  the  house,  and  took  up  their 
rest  for  that  night  in  the  town,  promising  to  return 
next  morning. 

With  the  next  morning,  there  came  a  rumor  that 
two  men  and  a  boy  were  in  the  cage  at  Kingston, 
who  had  been  apprehended  overnight  under  suspi 
cious  circumstances ;  and  to  Kingston  Messrs.  Blathers 
and  Duff  journeyed  accordingly.  The  suspicious  cir 
cumstances,  however,  resolving  themselves,  on  inves 
tigation,  into  the  one  fact,  that  they  had  been  dis 
covered  sleeping  under  a  hay-stack ;  which,  although 
a  great  crime,  is  only  punishable  by  imprisonment, 
and  is,  in  the  merciful  eye  of  the  English  law,  and  its 
comprehensive  love  of  all  the  king's  subjects,  held  to 
be  no  satisfactory  proof,  in  the  absence  of  all  other 
evidence,  that  the  sleeper,  or  sleepers,  have  committed 
burglary  accompanied  with  violence,  and  have  there 
fore  rendered  themselves  liable  to  the  punishment  of 
death ;  Messrs.  Blathers  and  Duff  came  back  again, 
as  wise  as  they  went. 

In  short,  after  some  more  examination,  and  a  great 
deal  more  conversation,  a  neighboring  magistrate 
was  readily  induced  to  take  the  joint  bail  of  Mrs. 
Maylie  and  Mr.  Losberne  for  Oliver's  appearance  if 
he  should  ever  be  called  upon ;  and  Blathers  and 
Duff,  being  rewarded  with  a  couple  of  guineas,  re 
turned  to  town  with  divided  opinions  on  the  subject 
of  their  expedition :  the  latter  gentleman,  oil  a  ma- 


A  FALSE  ALARM. 


99 


ture  consideration  of  all  the  circumstances,  inclining 
to  the  belief  that  the  burglarious  attempt  had  origi 
nated  with  the  Family  Pet ;  and  the  former  being 
equally  disposed  to  concede  the  full  merit  of  it  to  the 
great  Mr.  Conkey  Chickweed. 

Meanwhile,  Oliver  gradually  throve  and  prospered 
under  the  united  care  of  Mrs.  Maylie,  Rose,  and  the 
kind-hearted  Mr.  Losberue.  If  fervent  prayers,  gush 
ing  from  hearts  overcharged  with  gratitude,  be  heard 
in  heaven — and  if  they  be  not,  what  prayers  are ! — 
the  blessings  which  the  orphan  child  called  down 
upon  them  sunk  into  their  souls,  diffusing  peace  and 
happiness. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

OF   THE   HAPPY  LIFE    OLIVER  BEGAN  TO  LEAD  WITH  HIS 
KIND   FRIENDS. 

OLIVER'S  ailings  were  neither  slight  nor  few.  In 
addition  to  the  pain  and  delay  attendant  on  a 
broken  limb,  his  exposure  to  the  wet  and  cold  had 
brought  on  fever  and  ague ;  which  hung  about  him 
for  many  weeks,  and  reduced  him  sadly.  But  at 
length  he  began,  by  slow  degrees,  to  get  better,  and 
to  be  able  to  say,  sometimes,  in  a  few  tearful  words, 
how  deeply  he  felt  the  goodness  of  the  two  sweet  la 
dies,  and  how  ardently  he  hoped  that  when  he  grew 
strong  and  well  again,  he  could  do  something  to 
show  his  gratitude :  only  something  which  would  let 
them  see  the  love  and  duty  with  which  his  breast 
was  full ;  something,  however  slight,  which  would 
prove  to  them  that  their  gentle  kindness  had  not 
been  cast  away ;  but  that  the  poor  boy  whom  their 
charity  had  rescued  from  misery  or  death  was  eager 
to  serve  them  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul. 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  Rose,  when  Oliver  had  been 
one  day  feebly  endeavoring  to  utter  the  words  of 
thankfulness  that  rose  to  his  pale  lips ;  "  you  shall 
have  many  opportunities  of  serving  us,  if  you  will. 
We  are  going  into  the  country,  and  my  aunt  intends 
that  you  shall  accompany  us.  The  quiet  place,  the 
pure  air,  and  all  the  pleastires  and  beauties  of  spring, 
will  restore  you  in  a  few  days.  We  will  employ  you 
in  a  hundred  ways,  when  you  can  bear  the  trouble." 

"  The  trouble !"  cried  Oliver.  "  Oh !  dear  lady,  if 
I  could  but  work  for  you ;  if  I  could  only  give  you 
pleasure  by  watering  your  flowers,  or  watching  your 
birds,  or  running  up  and  down  the  whole  day  long, 
to  make  you  happy ;  what  would  I  give  to  do  it !" 

"  You  shall  give  nothing  at  all,"  said  Miss  Maylie, 
smiling ;  "  for,  as  I  told  yon  before,  we  shall  employ 
you  in  a  hundred  ways ;  and  if  you  only  take  half 
the  trouble  to  please  us  that  you  promise  now,  you 
will  make  me  very  happy  indeed." 

"  Happy,  ma'am !"  cried  Oliver ;  "  how  kind  of  you 
to  s;iy  so!" 

"  You  will  make  me  happier  than  I  can  tell  you," 
replied  the  young  lady.  "To  think  that  my  dear 
good  aunt  should  have  been  the  means  of  rescuing 
any  one  from  such  sad  misery  as  you  have  described 
to  us,  would  be  an  unspeakable  pleasure  to  me ;  but 
to  know  that  the  object  of  her  goodness  and  com 
passion  was  sincerely  grateful  and  attached  in  con 
sequence,  would  delight  me  more  than  you  can  well 


imagine.      Do  you  understand  me  ?"  she  inquired, 
watching  Oliver's  thoughtful  face. 

"Oh  yes,  ma'am,  yes !"  replied  Oliver,  eagerly;  "but 
I  was  thinking  that  I  am  ungrateful  now." 

"  To  whom  f '  inquired  the  young  lady. 

"  To  the  kind  gentleman  and  the  dear  old  nurse 
who  took  so  much  care  of  me  before,"  rejoined  Oli 
ver.  "  If  they  knew  how  happy  I  am,  they  would 
be  pleased,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  am  sure  they  would,"  rejoined  Oliver's  bene 
factress;  "and  Mr.  Losberne  has  already  been  kind 
enough  to  promise  that  when  you  are  well  enough 
to  bear  the  journey,  he  will  carry  you  to  see  them." 

"  Has  he,  ma'am  ?"  cried  Oliver,  his  face  brighten 
ing  with  pleasure.  "  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do 
for  joy  when  I  see  their  kind  faces  once  again." 

In  a  short  time  Oliver  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
undergo  the  fatigue  of  this  expedition.  One  morn 
ing  he  and  Mr.  Losberne  set  out,  accordingly,  in  a  lit 
tle  carriage  which  belonged  to  Mrs.  Maylie.  When 
they  came  to  Chertsey  Bridge,  Oliver  turned  very 
pale,  and  uttered  a  loud  exclamation. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  boy  ?"  cried  the  doc 
tor  ;  as  usual,  all  in  a  bustle.  "  Do  you  see  any  thing 
— hear  any  thing — feel  any  thing — eh  ?" 

"  That,  sir,"  cried  Oliver,  pointing  out  of  the  car 
riage  window.  "  That  house !" 

"  Yes ;  well,  what  of  it  ?  Stop,  coachman.  Pull 
up  here,"  cried  the  doctor.  "  WThat  of  the  house,  my 
man ;  eh  ?" 

"  The  thieves — the  house  they  took  me  to !"  whis 
pered  Oliver. 

"The  devil  it  is!"  cried  the  doctor.  "Halloo, 
there !  let  me  out !" 

But,  before  the  coachman  could  dismount  from  his 
box,  he  had  tumbled  out  of  the  coach  by  some  means 
or  other ;  and,  running  down  to  the  deserted  tene 
ment,  began  kicking  at  the  door  like  a  madman. 

"Halloo!"  said  a  little  ugly  humpbacked  man, 
opening  the  door  so  suddenly  that  the  doctor,  from 
the  very  impetus  of  his  last  kick,  nearly  fell  forward 
into  the  passage.  "  What's  the  matter  here  ?" 

"  Matter!"  exclaimed  the  other,  collaring  him,  with 
out  a  moment's  reflection.  "A  good  deal.  Robbery 
is  the  matter." 

"  There'll  be  murder  the  matter,  too,"  replied  the 
humpbacked  man,  coolly,  "if  you  don't  take  your 
hands  off.  Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  I  hear  you,"  said  the  doctor,  giving  his  captive 
a  hearty  shake.  "Where's  —  confound  the  fellow, 
what's  his  rascally  name  ? — Sikes ;  that's  it.  Where's 
Sikes,  you  thief?" 

The  humpbacked  man  stared,  as  if  in  excess  of 
amazement  and  indignation ;  then  twisting  himself 
dexterously  from  the  doctor's  grasp,  growled  forth  a 
volley  of  horrid  oaths,  and  retired  into  the  house. 
Before  he  could  shut  the  door,  however,  the  doctor 
had  passed  into  the  parlor  without  a  word  of  parley. 
He  looked  anxiously  round ;  not  an  article  of  furni 
ture  ;  not  a  vestige  of  any  thing,  animate  or  inani 
mate — not  even  the  position  of  the  cupboards,  an 
swered  Oliver's  description. 

"  Now !"  said  the  humpbacked  man,  who  had  watch 
ed  him  keenly,  "what  do  you  mean  by  coming  into 
my  house  in  this  violent  way  ?  Do  you  want  to 
rob  me,  or  to  murder  me  ?  Which  is  it  ?" 


100 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  Did  you  ever  know  a  man  come  out  to  do  either 
in  a  chariot  and  pair,  you  ridiculous  old  vampire  I" 
said  the  irritable  doctor. 

"  What  do  you  want,  then  ?"  demanded  the  hunch 
back.  "  Will  you  take  yourself  off  before  I  do  you 
a  mischief  ?  Curse  you!" 

"As  soon  as  I  think  proper,"  said  Mr.  Losberne, 
looking  into  the  other  parlor ;  which,  like  the  first, 
bore  no  resemblance  whatever  to  Oliver's  account 
of  it.  "  I  shall  find  you  out  some  day,  my  friend." 

"  Will  you  ?"  sneered  the  ill-favored  cripple.  "  If 
you  ever  want  me,  I'm  here.  I  haven't  lived  here 
mad  and  all  alone  for  five-and-twenty  years,  to  be 
scared  by  you.  You  shall  pay  for  this;  you  shall 
pay  for  this."  And  so  saying,  the  misshapen  little 
demon  set  up  a  yell,  and  danced  upon  the  ground  as 
if  wild  with  rage. 

"  Stupid  enough,  this!"  muttered  the  doctor  to  him 
self;  "the  boy  must  have  made  a  mistake.  Here! 
Put  that  in  your  pocket,  and  shut  yourself  up  again." 
With  these  words  he  flung  the  hunchback  a  piece  of 
money,  and  returned  to  the  carriage. 

The  man  followed  to  the  chariot  door,  uttering  the 
wildest  imprecations  and  curses  all  the  way ;  but  as 
Mr.  Losberne  turned  to  speak  to  the  driver,  he  looked 
into  the  carriage,  and  eyed  Oliver  for  an  instant  with 
a  glance  so  sharp  and  fierce,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
furious  and  vindictive,  that,  waking  or  sleeping,  he 
could  not  forget  it  for  months  afterward.  He  con 
tinued  to  utter  the  most  fearful  imprecations,  until 
the  driver  had  resumed  his  seat ;  and  when  they  were 
once  more  on  their  way,  they  could  see  him  some  dis 
tance  behind,  beating  his  feet  upon  the  ground  and 
tearing  his  hair,  in  transports  of  real  or  pretended  rage. 

"  I  am  an  ass !"  said  the  doctor,  after  a  long  silence. 
"  Did  you  know  that  before,  Oliver  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Then  don't  forget  it  another  tune." 

"An  ass,"  said  the  doctor  again,  after  a  further  si 
lence  of  some  minutes.  "  Even  if  it  had  been  the 
right  place,  and  the  right  fellows  had  been  there, 
what  could  I  have  done  single-handed?  And  if  I 
had  had  assistance,  I  see  no  good  that  I  should  have 
done,  except  leading  to  my  own  exposure,  and  an 
unavoidable  statement  of  the  manner  in  which  I 
have  hushed  up  this  business.  That  would  have 
served  me  right,  though.  I  am  always  involving 
myself  in  some  scrape  or  other  by  acting  on  impulse. 
It  might  have  done  me  good." 

Now  the  fact  was,  that  the  excellent  doctor  had 
never  acted  upon  any  thing  but  impulse  all  through 
his  life,  and  it  was  no  bad  compliment  to  the  nature 
of  the  impulses  which  governed  him,  that,  so  far  from 
being  involved  in  any  peculiar  troubles  or  misfor 
tunes,  he  had  the  warmest  respect  and  esteem  of  all 
who  knew  him.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  was  a 
little  out  of  temper  for  a  minute  or  two,  at  being 
disappointed  in  procuring  corroborative  evidence  of 
Oliver's  story,  on  the  very  first  occasion  on  which  he 
had  a  chance  of  obtaining  any.  He  soon  came  round 
again,  however ;  and  finding  that  Oliver's  replies  to 
his  questions  were  still  as  straightforward  and  con 
sistent,  and  still  delivered  with  as  much  apparent 
sincerity  and  truth  as  they  had  ever  been,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  attach  full  credence  to  them,  from 
that  tune  forth. 


As  Oliver  knew  the  name  of  the  street  in  which 
Mr.  Browulow  resided,  they  were  enabled  to  drive 
straight  thither.  When  the  coach  turned  into  it,  his 
heart  beat  so  violently  that  he  could  scarcely  draw 
his  breath. 

"  Now,  my  boy,  which  house  is  it  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Losberne. 

"That!  That!"  replied  Oliver,  pointing  eagerly 
out  of  the  window.  "  The  white  house.  Oh !  make 
haste !  Pray,  make  haste !  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die ; 
it  makes  me  tremble  so." 

"  Come,  come !"  said  the  good  doctor,  patting  him 
on  the  shoulder.  "  You  will  see  them  directly,  and 
they  will  be  overjoyed  to  find  you  safe  and  well." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so !"  cried  Oliver.  "  They  were  so 
good  to  me ;  so  very,  very  good  to  me !" 

The  coach  rolled  on.  It  stopped.  No ;  that  was 
the  wrong  house ;  the  next  door.  It  went  on  a  few 
paces,  and  stopped  again.  Oliver  looked  up  at  the 
windows,  with  tears  of  happy  expectation  coursing 
dowu  his  face. 

Alas !  the  white  house  was  empty,  and  there  was 
a  bill  in  the  window — "  To  Let." 

"  Knock  at  the  next  door,"  cried  Mr.  Losberne,  tak 
ing  Oliver's  arm  in  his.  "What  has  become  of  Mr. 
Brownlow,  who  used  to  live  in  the  adjoining  house, 
do  you  know  ?" 

The  servant  did  not  know,  but  would  go  and  in 
quire.  She  presently  returned,  and  said  that  Mr. 
Browulow  had  sold  off  his  goods  and  gone  to  the 
West  Indies  six  weeks  before.  Oliver  clasped  his 
hands,  and  sank  feebly  backward. 

"  Has  his  housekeeper  gone,  too  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Losberne,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  servant.  "  The  old  gentle 
man,  the  housekeeper,  and  a  gentleman  who  was  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Browulow's,  all  went  together." 

"  Then  turn  toward  home  again,"  said  Mr.  Los 
berne  to  the  driver;  "and  don't  stop  to  bait  the 
horses  till  you  get  out  of  this  confounded  London !" 

"  The  book-stall  keeper,  sir  ?"  said  Oliver.  "  I 
know  the  way  there.  See  him,  pray,  sir !  Do  see 
him!" 

"  My  poor  boy,  this  is  disappointment  enough  for 
one  day,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Quite  enough  for  both 
of  us.  If  we  go  to  the  book-stall  keeper's,  we  shall 
certainly  find  that  he  is  dead,  or  has  set  his  house  on 
fire,  or  run  away.  No  ;  home  again  straight !"  And 
in  obedience  to  the  doctor's  impulse  home  they  went. 

This  bitter  disappointment  caused  Oliver  much 
sorrow  and  grief,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  happiness ; 
for  he  had  pleased  himself,  many  times  -during  his 
illness,  with  thinking  of  all  that  Mr.  Brownlow  and 
Mrs.  Bedwin  would  say  to  him,  and  what  delight  it 
would  be  to  tell  them  how  many  long  days  and 
nights  he  had  passed  in  reflecting  on  what  they  had 
done  for  him,  and  in  bewailing  his  cmel  separation 
from  them.  The  hope  of  eventually  clearing  him 
self  with  them,  too,  and  explaining  how  he  had  been 
forced  away,  had  buoyed  him  up,  and  sustained  him, 
under  many  of  his  recent  trials ;  and  now,  the  idea 
that  they  should  have  gone  so  far,  and  carried  with 
them  the  belief  that  he  was  an  impostor  and  a  rob 
ber — a  belief  which  might  remain  uncontradicted  to 
his  dying  day — was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear. 

The  circumstance  occasioned  no  alteration,  how- 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  AN  INLAND    VILLAGE. 


101 


ever,  in  the  behavior  of  his  benefactors.  After  an 
other  fortnight,  -when  the  fine  warm  weather  had 
fairly  begun,  and  every  tree  and  flower  was  putting 
forth  its  young  leaves  and  rich  blossoms,  they  made 
preparations  for  quitting  the  house  at  Chertsey  for 
some  months.  Sending  the  plate,  which  had  so  ex 
cited  Fagiu's  cupidity,  to  the  banker's ;  and  leaving 
Giles  and  another  servant  in  care  of  the  house,  they 
departed  to  a  cottage  at  some  distance  in  the  coun 
try,  and  took  Oliver  with  them. 

Who  can  describe  the  pleasure  and  delight,  the 
peace  of  mind  and  soft  tranquillity,  the  sickly  boy 
felt  in  the  balmy  air,  and  among  the  green  hills  and 
rich  woods  of  an  inland  village !  Who  can  tell  how 
scenes  of  peace  and  quietude  sink  into  the  minds 
of  pain-worn  dwellers  in  close  and  noisy  places, 
and  carry  their  own  freshness  deep  into  their  jaded 
hearts !  Men  who  have  lived  in  crowded,  pent-up 
streets,  through  lives  of  toil,  and  who  have  never 
wished  for  change ;  men,  to  whom  custom  has  indeed 
been  second  nature,  and  who  have  come  almost  to 
love  each  brick  and  stone  that  formed  tho  narrow 
boundaries  of  their  daily  walks ;  even  they,  with  the 
hand  of  death  upon  them,  have  been  known  to  yearn 
at  last  for  one  short  glimpse  of  Nature's  face ;  and, 
carried  far  from  the  scenes  of  their  old  pains  and 
pleasures,  have  seemed  to  pass  at  once  into  a  new 
state  of  being.  Crawling  forth  from  day  to  day,  to 
some  green  sunny  spot,  they  have  had  such  memories 
wakened  up  within  them  by  the  sight  of  sky,  and 
hill  and  plain,  and  glistening  water,  that  a  foretaste 
of  heaven  itself  has  soothed  their  quick  decline,  and 
they  have  sunk  into  their  tombs  as  peacefully  as  the 
sun,  whose  setting  they  watched  from  their  lonely 
chamber  window  but  a  few  hours  before,  faded  from 
their  dim  and  feeble  sight!  The  memories  which 
peaceful  country  scenes  call  up  are  not  of  this  world, 
nor  of  its  thoughts  and  hopes.  Their  gentle  in 
fluence  may  teach  us  how  to  weave  fresh  garlands 
for  the  graves  of  those  we  loved — may  purify  our 
thoughts,  and  bear  down  before  it  old  enmity  and 
hatred ;  but  beneath  all  this  there  lingers,  in  the 
least  reflective  mind,  a  vague  and  half-formed  con 
sciousness  of  having  held  such  feelings  long  before, 
in  some  remote  and  distant  time,  which  calls  up  sol 
emn  thoughts  of  distant  times  to  come,  and  bends 
down  pride  and  worldliness  beneath  it. 

It  was  a  lovely  spot  to  which  they  repaired.  Oli 
ver,  whose  days  had  been  spent  among  squalid  crowds, 
and  in  the  midst  of  noise  and  brawling,  seemed  to 
enter  on  a  new  existence  there.  The  rose  and  hon 
eysuckle  clung  to  the  cottage  walls;  the  ivy  crept 
round  the  trunks  of  the  trees ;  and  the  garden-flow 
ers  perfumed  the  air  with  delicious  odors.  Hard  by 
was  a  little  church-yard ;  not  crowded  with  tall  un 
sightly  grave-stones,  but  full  of  humble  mounds,  cov 
ered  with  fresh  turf  and  moss :  beneath  which  the 
old  people  of  the  village  lay  at  rest.  Oliver  often 
wandered  here  ;  and,  thinking  of  the  wretched  grave 
in  which  his  mother  lay,  would  sometimes  sit  him 
down  and  sob  unseen ;  but  when  he  raised  his  eyes 
to  the  deep  sky  overhead,  he  would  cease  to  think 
of  her  as  lying  in  the  ground,  and  would  weep  for 
her,  sadly,  but  without  pain. 

It  was  a  happy  time.  The  days  were  peaceful  and 
serene;  the  nights  brought  with  them  neither  fear 


nor  care ;  no  languishing  in  a  wretched  prison,  or 
associating  with  wretched  men ;  nothing  but  pleas 
ant  and  happy  thoughts.  Every  morning  he  went 
to  a  white-headed  old  gentleman,  who  lived  near  the" 
little  church,  who  taught  Mm  to  read  better,  and  to 
write ;  and  who  spoke  so  kindly,  and  took  such  pains, 
that  Oliver  could  never  try  enough  to  please  him. 
Then  he  would  walk  with  Mrs.  Maylie  and  Rose,  and 
hear  them  talk  of  books ;  or  perhaps  sit  near  them 
in  some  shady  place,  and  listen  while  the  young 
lady  read,  which  he  could  have  done  until  it  grew 
too  dark  to  see  the  letters.  Then  he  had  his  own 
lesson  for  the  next  day  to  prepare ;  and  at  this  he 
would  work  hard,  in  a  little  room  which  looked  into 
the  garden,  till  evening  came  slowly  on,  when  the 
ladies  would  walk  out  again,  and  he  with  them ;  list 
ening  with  such  pleasure  to  all  they  said;  and  so 
happy,  if  they  wanted  a  flower,  that  he  could  climb 
to  reach,  or  had  forgotten  any  thing  he  could  run  to 
fetch ;  that  he  could  never  be  quick  enough  about 
it.  When  it  became  quite  dark,  and  they  returned 
home,  the  young  lady  would  sit  down  to  the  piano, 
and  play  some  pleasant  air,  or  sing,  in  a  low  and  gen 
tle  voice,  some  old  song  which  it  pleased  her  aunt  to 
hear.  There  would  be  no  candles  lighted  at  such 
times  as  these ;  and  Oliver  would  sit  by  one  of  the 
windows,  listening  to  the  sweet  music  in  a  perfect 
rapture. 

And  when  Sunday  came,  how  differently  the  day 
was  spent,  from  any  way  in  which  he  had  ever  spent 
it  yet !  and  how  happily  too ;  like  all  the  other  days 
in  that  most  happy  time !  There  was  the  little  church 
in  the  morning,  with  the  green  leaves  fluttering  at 
the  windows ;  the  birds  singing  without ;  and  the 
sweet-smelling  air  stealing  in  at  the  low  porch,  and 
filling  the  homely  building  with  its  fragrance.  The 
poor  people  were  so  neat  and  clean,  and  knelt  so  rev 
erently  in  prayer,  that  it  seemed  a  pleasure,  not  a 
tedious  duty,  their  assembling  there  together ;  and 
though  the  singing  might  be  rude,  it  was  real,  and 
sounded  more  musical  (to  Oliver's  ears  at  least)  than 
any  he  had  ever  heard  in  church  before.  Then  there 
were  the  walks  as  usual,  and  many  calls  at  the  clean 
houses  of  the  laboring  men ;  and  at  night  Oliver 
read  a  chapter  or  two  from  the  Bible,  which  he  had 
been  studying  all  the  week,  and  in  the  performance 
of  which  duty  he  felt  more  proud  and  pleased  than 
if  he  had  been  the  clergyman  himself. 

In  the  morning  Oliver  would  be  afoot  by  six 
o'clock,  roaming  the  fields,  and  plundering  the 
hedges  far  and  wide  for  nosegays  of  wild  flowers, 
with  which  he  would  return  laden  home ;  and  which 
it  took  great  care  and  consideration  to  arrange,  to 
the  best  advantage,  for  the  embellishment  of  the 
breakfast-table.  There  was  fresh  groundsel,  too,  for 
Miss  Maylie's  birds,  with  which  Oliver,  who  had  been 
studying  the  subject  under  the  able  tuition  of  the 
village  clerk,  would  decorate  the  cages  in  the  most 
approved  taste.  When  the  birds  were  made  all  spruce 
and  smart  for  the  day,  there  was  usually  some  little 
commission  of  charity  to  execute  in  the  village ;  or, 
failing  that,  there  was  rare  cricket-playing,  some 
times,  on  the  green ;  or,  failing  that,  there  was  al 
ways  something  to  do  in  the  garden,  or  about  the 
plants,  to  which  Oliver  (who  had  studied  this  science 
also,  under  the  same  master,  who  was  a  gardener  by 


102 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


trade),  applied  himself  with  hearty  good-will,  until 
Miss  Rose  made  her  appearance :  when  there  were  a 
thousand  commendations  to  be  bestowed  on  all  he 
had  done. 

So  three  mouths  glided  away ;  three  months  which, 
in  the  life  of  the  most  blessed  and  favored  of  mor 
tals,  might  have  been  uumingled  happiness,  and 
which,  in  Oliver's,  were  true  felicity.  With  the  pur 
est  and  most  amiable  generosity  on  one  side ;  and 
the  truest,  warmest,  soul-felt  gratitude  on  the  other ; 
it  is  no  wonder  that,  by  the  end  of  that  short  time, 
Oliver  Twist  had  become  completely  domesticated 


and  health ;  and  stretching  forth  their  green  arms 
over  the  thirsty  ground,  converted  open  and  naked 
spots  into  choice  nooks,  where  was  a  deep  and  pleas 
ant  shade  from  which  to  look  upon  the  wide  pros 
pect,  steeped  in  sunshine,  which  lay  stretched  be 
yond.  The  earth  had  donned  her  mantle  of  bright 
est  green,  and  shed  her  richest  perfumes  abroad.  It 
was  the  prime  and  vigor  of  the  year ;  all  things  were 
glad  aud  nourishing. 

Still,  the  same  quiet  life  went  on  at  the  little  cot 
tage,  and  the  same  cheerful  serenity  prevailed  among 
its  inmates.  Oliver  had  long  since  grown  stout  and 


'  WHEN   IT  BECAME  QUITE    DAi'.K,  AND  THEY   BKTUBNED  HOME,  THE  YOUNG   LADY   WOULD  SIT   DOWN   TO  THE   PIANO  AND   PLAY   SOME 

PLEASANT  AIK." 


with  the  old  lady  and  her  niece,  and  that  the  fer 
vent  attachment  of  his  young  and  sensitive  heart 
was  repaid  by  their  pride  in,  and  attachment  to, 

himself. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

\VHEREIN   THE    HAPPINESS    OF   OLIVER   AND    HIS    FRIENDS 
EXPERIENCES   A   SUDDEN   CHECK. 

SPRING  flew  swiftly  by,  and  summer  came.     If 
the  village  had  been  beautiful  at  first,  it  was 
now  in  the  full  glow  and  luxuriance  of  its  richness. 
The  great  trees,  which  had  looked  shrunken  and  bare 
iu  the  earlier  mouths,  had  now  burst  into  strong  life 


healthy ;  but  health  or  sickness  made  no  difference 
iu  his  warm  feelings  to  those  about  him,  "though  they 
do  in  the  feelings  of  a  great  many  people.  He  AMIS 
still  the  same  gentle,  attached,  affectionate  creature 
that  he  had  been  when  pain  and  suffering  had 
wasted  his  strength,  and  when  he  was  dependent  for 
every  slight  attention  and  comfort  on  those  who 
tended  him. 

One  beautiful  night  they  had  taken  a  longer  walk 
than  was  customary  with  them ;  for  the  day  had 
been  unusually  warm,  and  there  was  a  brilliant 
moon,  and  a  light  wind  had  sprung  up,  which  was 
unusually  refreshing.  Rose  had  been  in  high  spir 
its,  too,  and  they  had  walked  on,  in  merry  conver 
sation,  uutil  they  had  far  exceeded  their  ordinary 


A  SEAL  ALARM. 


103 


bounds.  Mrs.  Maylie  beiiig  fatigued,  they  returned 
more  slowly  home.  The  young  lady,  merely  throw 
ing  off  her  simple  bonnet,  sat  down  to  the  piano  as 
usual.  After  running  abstractedly  over  the  keys 
for  a  few  minutes,  she  fell  into  a  low  and  very  sol 
emn  air ;  and  as  she  played  it,  they  heard  a  sound  as 
if  she  were  weeping. 

"  Rose,  my  dear!"  said  the  elder  lady. 

Rose  made  no  reply,  but  played  a  little  quicker,  as 
though  the  words  had  roused  her  from  some  painful 
thoughts. 

"  Rose,  my  love !"  cried  Mrs.  Maylie,  rising  hastily, 
and  bending  over  her.  "  What  is  this  ?  In  tears ! 
My  dear  child,  what  distresses  you  ?" 

"Nothing,  aunt ;  nothing,"  replied  the  young  lady. 
" I  don't  know  what  it  is;  I  can't  describe  it;  but  I 
feel— 

"  Not  ill,  my  love  ?"  interposed  Mrs.  Maylie. 

"  No,  no !  Oh,  not  ill !"  replied  Rose,  shuddering 
as  though  some  deadly  dullness  were  passing  over 
her  while  she  spoke;  "I  shall  be  better  presently. 
Close  the  window,  pray !" 

Oliver  hastened  to  comply  with  her  request.  The 
young  lady,  making  an  effort  to  recover  her  cheer 
fulness,  strove  to  play  some  livelier  tune ;  but  her 
fingers  dropped  powerless  on  the  keys.  Covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  she  sank  upon  a  sofa,  and 
gave  vent  to  the  tears  which  she  was  now  unable  to 
repress. 

"My  child!"  said  the  elderly  lady,  folding  her 
anus  about  her.  "  I  never  saw  you  so  before." 

"  I  would  not  alarm  you  if  I  could  avoid  it,"  re 
joined  Rose;  "but  indeed  I  have  tried  very  hard, 
and  can  not  help  this.  I  fear  I  am  ill,  aunt." 

She  was,  indeed ;  for,  when  caudles  were  brought, 
they  saw  that  in  the  very  short  time  which  had 
elapsed  since  their  return  home,  the  hue  of  her  coun 
tenance  had  changed  to  a  marble  whiteness.  Its  ex 
pression  had  lost  nothing  of  its  beauty,  but  it  was 
changed ;  and  there  was  an  anxious,  haggard  look 
about  the  gentle  face,  which  it  had  never  worn  be 
fore.  Another  minute,  and  it  was  suffused  with  a 
crimson  flush,  and  a  heavy  wildness  came  over  the 
soft  blue  eye.  Again  this  disappeared,  like  the  shad 
ow  thrown  by  a  passing  cloud;  and  she  was  once 
more  deadly  pale. 

Oliver,  who  watched  the  old  lady  anxiously,  ob 
served  that  she  was  alarmed  by  these  appearances ; 
and  so,  in  truth,  was  he ;  but  seeing  that  she  affected 
to  make  light  of  them,  he  endeavored  to  do  the  same, 
and  they  so  far  succeeded  that,  when  Rose  was  per 
suaded  by  her  aunt  to  retire  for  the  night,  she  was 
iu  better  spirits,  and  appeared  even  in  better  health ; 
assuring  them  that  she  felt  certain  she  should  rise  in 
the  morning  quite  well. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Oliver,  when  Mrs.  Maylie  returned, 
"  that  nothing  is  the  matter  ?  She  don't  look  well 
to-night,  but — " 

The  old  lady  motioned  to  him  not  to  speak ;  and 
sitting  herself  down  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  room, 
remained  silent  for  some  time.  At  length  she  said, 
in  a  trembling  voice : 

"I  hope  not,  Oliver.  I  have  been  very  happy 
with  her  for  some  years — too  happy,  perhaps.  It 
may  be  time  that  I  should  meet  with  some  misfor 
tune  ;  but  I  hope  it  is  not  this." 


"  What  ?"  inquired  Oliver. 

"  The  heavy  blow,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  of  losing 
the  dear  girl  who  has  so  long  been  my  comfort  and 
happiness." 

"  Oh !  God  forbid !"  exclaimed  Oliver,  hastily. 

"Amen  to  that,  my  child!"  said  the  old  lady, 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  Surely  there  is  no  danger  of  any  thing  so  dread 
ful  f '  said  Oliver.  "  Two  hours  ago  she  was  quite 
well." 

"  She  is  very  ill  now,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Maylie ;  "  and 
will  be  worse,  I  am  sure.  My  dear,  dear  Rose !  Oh, 
what  should  I  do  without  her  ?" 

She  gave  way  to  such  great  grief,  that  Oliver, 
suppressing  his  own  emotion,  ventured  to  remon 
strate  with  her,  and  to  beg  earnestly  that,  for  the 
sake  of  the  dear  young  lady  herself,  she  would  be 
more  cahn. 

"And  consider,  ma'am,"  said  Oliver,  as  the  tears 
forced  themselves  into  his  eyes,  despite  of  his  efforts 
to  the  contrary — "oh!  consider  how  young  and 
good  she  is,  and  what  pleasure  and  comfort  she 
gives  to  all  about  her.  I  am  sure — certain — quite 
certain — that,  for  your  sake,  who  are  so  good  your 
self;  and  for  her  own;  and  for  the  sake  of  all  she 
makes  so  happy;  she  will  not  die..  Heaven  will 
never  let  her  die  so  young." 

"  Hush !"  said  Mrs.  Maylie,  laying .  her  hand  on 
Oliver's  head.  "  You  think  like  a  child,  poor  boy. 
But  you  teach  me  my  duty,  notwithstanding.  I  had 
forgotten  it  for  a  moment,  Oliver,  but  I  hope  I  may 
be  pardoned,  for  I  am  old,  and  have  seen  enough  of 
illness  and  death  to  know  the  agony  of  separation 
from  the  objects  of  our  love.  I  have  seen  enough, 
too,  to  know  that  it  is  not  always  the  youngest  and 
best  who  are  spared  to  those  that  love  them ;  but 
this  should  give  us  comfort  in  our  sorrow ;  for  Heav 
en  is  just ;  and  such  things  teach  us,  impressively, 
that  there  is  a  brighter  world  than  this ;  and  that 
the  passage  to  it  is  speedy.  God's  will  be  done !  I 
love  her;  and  He  knows  how  well!" 

Oliver  was  surprised  to  see  that  as  Mrs.  Maylie 
said  these  words,  she  checked  her  lamentations  as 
though  by  one  effort ;  and  drawing  herself  up  as  slit- 
spoke,  became  composed  and  firm.  He  was  still 
more  astonished  to  find  that  this  firmness  lasted; 
and  that,  under  all  the  care  and  watching  which  en 
sued,  Mrs.  Maylie  was  ever  ready  and  collected :  per 
forming  all  the  duties  which  devolved  upon  her, 
steadily,  and,  to  all  external  appearances,  even  cheer 
fully.  But  he  was  young,  and  did  not  know  what 
strong  minds  are  capable  of,  under  trying  circum 
stances.  How  should  he,  when  their  possessors  so 
seldom  know  themselves  ? 

An  anxious  night  ensued.  When  morning  came, 
Mrs.  Maylie's  predictions  were  but  too  well  verified. 
Rose  was  in  the  first  stage  of  a  high  and  dangerous 
fever. 

"  We  must  be  active,  Oliver,  and  not  give  way  to 
useless  grief,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie,  laying  her  finger  on 
her  lip,  as  she  looked  steadily  into  his  face ;  "  this 
letter  must  be  sent,  with  all  possible  expedition,  to 
Mr.  Losberue.  It  must  be  carried  to  the  market- 
town,  which  is  not  more  than  four  miles  off  by  the 
foot-path  across  the  fields,  and  thence  dispatched,  by 
an  express  on  horseback,  straight  to  Chertsey.  The 


104 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


people  at  the  inu  will  undertake  to  do  this;  and  I 
can  trust  to  you  to  see  it  done,  I  know." 

Oliver  could  make  no  reply,  but  looked  his  anx 
iety  to  be  gone  at  once. 

"  Here  is  another  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie,  pausing 
to  reflect ;  "  but  whether  to  send  it  now,  or  wait  un 
til  I  see  how  Kose  goes  on,  I  scarcely  know.  I  would 
not  forward  it  unless  I  feared  the  worst." 

"  Is  it  for  Chertsey,  too,  ma'am  ?"  inquired  Oliver, 
impatient  to  execute  his  commission,  and  holding  out 
his  trembling  hand  for  the  letter. 

"  No,"  replied  the  old  lady,  giving  it  to  him  me 
chanically.  Oliver  glanced  at  it,  and  saw  that  it 
was  directed  to  Harry  Maylie,  Esquire,  at  some  great 
lord's  house  in  the  country;  where,  he  could  not 
make  out. 

"  Shall  it  go,  ma'am  ?"  asked  Oliver,  looking  up, 
impatiently. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Maylie,  taking  it  back. 
"  I  will  Avait  until  to-morrow." 

With  these  words  she  gave  Oliver  her  purse,  and 
he  started  off,  without  more  delay,  at  the  greatest 
speed  he  could  muster. 

Swiftly  he  ran  across  the  fields,  and  down  the  lit 
tle  lanes  which  sometimes  divided  them;  now  al 
most  hidden  by  the  high  corn  on  either  side,  and 
now  emerging  on  an  open  field,  where  the  mowers 
and  hay-makers  were  busy  at  their  work;  nor  did 
he  stop  once,  save  now  and  then,  for  a  few  seconds, 
to  recover  breath,  until  he  came,  in  a  great  heat,  and 
covered  with  dust,  on  the  little  market-place  of  the 
market-town. 

Here  he  paused  and  looked  about  for  the  inn. 
There  were  a  white  bank,  and  a  red  brewery,  and  a 
yellow  town-hall;  and  in  one  corner  there  was  a 
large  house,  with  all  the  wood  about  it  painted 
green,  before  which  was  the  sign  of  "  The  George." 
To  this  he  hastened,  as  soon  as  it  caught  his  eye. 

He  spoke  to  a  postboy  who  was  dozing  under  the 
gate-way ;  and  who,  after  hearing  what  he  wanted, 
referred  him  to  the  hostler ;  who,  after  hearing  all 
he  had  to  say  again,  referred  him  to  the  landlord, 
who  was  a  tall  gentleman  in  a  blue  neckcloth,  a 
white  hat,  drab  breeches,  and  boots  with  tops  to 
match,  leaning  against  a  pump  by  the  stable-door, 
picking  his  teeth  with  a  silver  tooth-pick. 

This  gentleman  walked  with  much  deliberation 
into  the  bar  to  make  out  the  bill,  which  took  a  long 
time  making  out ;  and  after  it  was  ready  and  paid, 
a  horse  had  to  be  saddled,  and  a  man  to  be  dressed, 
which  took  up  ten  good  minutes  more.  Meanwhile 
Oliver  was  in  such  a  desperate  state  of  impatience 
and  anxiety,  that  he  felt  as  if  he  could  have  jumped 
upon  the  horse  himself,  and  galloped  away,  full  tear, 
to  the  next  stage.  At  length  all  was  ready,  and  the 
little  parcel  having  been  handed  up,  with  many  in 
junctions  and  entreaties  for  its  speedy  delivery,  the 
man  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  rattling  over  the 
uneven  paving  of  the  market-place,  was  out  of  the 
town,  and  galloping  along  the  turnpike -road,  in  a 
couple  of  minutes. 

As  it  was  something  to  feel  certain  that  assist 
ance  was  sent  for,  and  that  110  time  had  been  lost, 
Oliver  hurried  up  the  inn-yard  with  a  somewhat 
lighter  heart.  He  was  turning  out  of  the  gate-way 
when  he  accidentally  stumbled  against  a  tall  man 


wrapped  in  a  cloak,  who  was  at  that  moment  com 
ing  out  of  the  inn  door. 

"  Hah !"  cried  the  man,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Oliver, 
and  suddenly  recoiling.  "  What  the  devil's  this  ?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Oliver ;  "  I  was  in 
a  great  hurry  to  get  home,  and  didn't  see  you  were 
coming." 

"  Death !"  muttered  the  man  to  himself,  glaring  at 
the  boy  with  his  large  dark  eyes.  "Who  would 
have  thought  it !  Grind  him  to  ashes !  He'd  start 
up  from  a  stone  coffin,  to  come  in  my  way !" 

"  I  am  sorry,"  stammered  Oliver,  confused  by  the 
strange  man's  wild  look.  "  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt 
you !" 

"  Eot  you !"  murmured  the  man,  in  a  horrible  pas 
sion,  between  his  clenched  teeth  ;  "  if  I  had  only  had 
the  courage  to  say  the  word,  I  might  have  been  free 
of  you  in  a  night.  Curses  on  your  head,  and  black 
death  on  your  heart,  you  imp !  What  are  you  doing 
here  f ' 

The  man  shook  his  fist  as  he  uttered  these  words 
incoherently.  He  advanced  toward  Oliver,  as  if 
with  the  intention  of  aiming  a  blow  at  him,  but  fell 
violently  on  the  ground,  writhing  and  foaming,  in  a 
fit. 

Oliver  gazed,  for  a  moment,  at  the  struggles  of  the 
madman  (for  such  he  supposed  him  to  be),  and  then 
darted  into  the  house  for  help.  Having  seen  him 
safely  carried  into  the  hotel,  he  turned  his  face 
homeward,  running  as  fast  as  he  could,  to  make  up 
for  lost  time,  and  recalling  with  a  great  deal  of  as 
tonishment  and  some  fear  the  extraordinary  behav 
ior  of  the  person  from  whom  he  had  just  parted. 

The  circumstance  did  not  dwell  in  his  recollection 
long,  however ;  for  when  he  reached  the  cottage, 
there  was  enough  to  occupy  his  mind,  and  to  drive  all 
considerations  of  self  completely  from  his  memory. 

Rose  Maylie  had  rapidly  grown  worse  ;  before  mid 
night  she  was  delirious.  A  medical  practitioner, 
who  resided  on  the  spot,  was  in  constant  attendance 
upon  her ;  and  after  first  seeing  the  patient,  he  had 
taken  Mrs.  Maylie  aside,  and  pronounced  her  disor 
der  to  be  one  of  a  most  alarming  nature.  "  In  fact," 
he  said,  "  it  would  be  little  short  of  a  miracle  if  she 
recovered." 

How  often  did  Oliver  start  from  his  bed  that  night, 
and  stealing  out,  with  noiseless  footstep,  to  the  stair 
case,  listen  for  the  slightest  sound  from  the  sick- 
chamber  !  How  often  did  a  tremble  shake  his  frame, 
and  cold  drops  of  terror  start  upon  his  brow,  when  a 
sudden  trampling  of  feet  caused  him  to  fear  that 
something  too  dreadful  to  think  of  had  even  then 
occurred !  And  what  had  been  the  fervency  of  all 
the  prayers  he  had  ever  uttered,  compared  with 
those  he  poured  forth  now,  in  the  agony  and  pas 
sion  of  his  supplication  for  the  life  and  health  of 
the  gentle  creature  who  was  tottering  on  the  deep 
grave's  verge ! 

Oh !  the  suspense,  the  fearful,  acute  suspense,  of 
standing  idly  by  while  the  life  of  one  we  dearly 
love  is  trembling  in  the  balance !  Oh !  the  racking 
thoughts  that  crowd  upon  the  mind,  and  make  the 
heart  beat  violently,  and  the  breath  come  thick,  by 
the  force  of  the  images  they  conjure  up  before  it ; 
the  desperate  anxiety  io  be  doing  something  to  relieve 
the  pain,  or  lessen  the  danger,  which  we  have  no 


FLO  WEBS  FOB   THE  SICK-CHAMJ3EB. 


105 


power  to  alleviate ;  the  sinkiiig  of  soul  and  spirit, 
which  the  sad  remembrance  of  our  helplessness  pro 
duces  ;  what  tortures  can  equal  these ;  what  reflec 
tions  or  endeavors  can,  in  the  full  tide  and  fever  of 
the  time,  allay  them ! 

Morning  came ;  and  the  little  cottage  was  lonely 
and  still.  People  spoke  in  whispers ;  anxious  faces 
appeared  at  the  gate,  from  time  to  time ;  women  and 
children  went  away  in  tears.  All  the  livelong  day, 
and  for  hours  after  it  had  grown  dark,  Oliver  paced 
softly  up  and  down  the  garden,  raising  his  eyes 
every  instant  to  the  sick-chamber,  and  shuddering 
to  see  the  darkened  window,  looking  as  if  death  lay 
stretched  inside.  Late  at  night  Mr.  Losberne  ar 
rived.  "  It  is  hard,"  said  the  good  doctor,  turning 
away  as  he  spoke ;  "  so  young ;  so  much  beloved ; 
but  there  is  very  little  hope." 

Another  morning.  The  sun  shone  brightly— as 
brightly  as  if  it  looked  upon  no  misery  or  care ;  and, 
with  every  leaf  and  flower  in  full  bloom  about  her ; 
with  life  and  health,  and  sounds  and  sights  of  joy, 
surrounding  her  on  every  side,  the  fair  young  crea 
ture  lay,  wasting  fast.  Oliver  crept  away  to  the  old 
church-yard,  and  sitting  down  on  one  of  the  green 
mounds,  wept  and  prayed  for  her  in  silence. 

There  was  such  peace  and  beauty  in  the  scene ;  so 
much  of  brightness  and  mirth  in  the  sunny  land 
scape  ;  such  blithesome  music  in  the  songs  of  the 
summer  birds ;  such  freedom  in  the  rapid  flight  of 
the  rook,  careering  overhead ;  so  much  of  life  and 
joyousness  in  all;  that,  when  the  boy  raised  his 
acMng  eyes  and  looked  about,  the  thought  instinct 
ively  occurred  to  him,  that  this  was  not  a  tune  for 
death ;  that  Rose  could  surely  never  die  when  hum 
bler  things  were  all  so  glad  and  gay;  that  graves 
were  for  cold  and  cheerless  winter ;  not  for  sunlight 
and  fragrance.  He  almost  thought  that  shrouds 
were  for  the  old  and  shrunken ;  and  that  they  never 
wrapped  the  young  and  graceful  form  in  their  ghast 
ly  folds. 

A  knell  from  the  church-bell  broke  harshly  on 
these  youthful  thoughts.  Another !  Again !  It  was 
tolling  for  the  funeral  service.  A  group  of  humble 
mourners  entered  the  gate,  wearing  white  favors,  for 
the  corpse  was  young.  They  stood  uncovered  by 
a  grave ;  and  there  was  a  mother — a  mother  once 
—  among  the  weeping  train.  But  the  sun  shone 
brightly,  and  the  birds  sang  on. 

Oliver  turned  homeward,  thinking  on  the  many 
kindnesses  he  had  received  from  the  young  lady, 
and  wishing  that  the  time  could  come  over  again, 
that  he  might  never  cease  showing  her  how  grateful 
and  attached  he  was.  He  had  no  cause  for  self- 
reproach  on  the  score  of  neglect  or  want  of  thought, 
for  he  had  been  devoted  to  her  service ;  and  yet  a 
hundred  little  occasions  rose  up  before  him  on 
which  he  fancied  he  might  have  been  more  zealous 
and  more  earnest,  and  wished  he  had  been.  We 
need  be  careful  how  we  deal  with  those  about  us, 
when  every  death  carries  to  some  small  circle  of 
survivors  thoughts  of  so  much  omitted,  and  so  lit 
tle  done — of  so  many  things  forgotten,  and  so  many 
more  which  might  have  been  repaired !  There  is  no 
remorse  so  deep  as  that  which  is  unavailing ;  if  we 
would  be  spared  its  tortures,  let  us  remember  this  in 
time. 


When  he  reached  home  Mrs.  Maylie  was  sitting  in 
the  little  parlor.  Oliver's  heart  sank  at  sight  of 
her ;  for  she  had  never  left  the  bedside  of  her  niece, 
and  he  trembled  to  think  what  change  could  have 
driven  her  away.  He  learned  that  she  had  fallen 
into  a  deep  sleep,  from  which  she  would  waken, 
either  to  recovery  and  life,  or  to  bid  them  farewell 
and  die. 

They  sat,  listening,  and  afraid  to  speak  for  hours. 
The  uutasted  meal  was  removed,  with  looks  which 
showed  that  their  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  they 
watched  the  sun  as  he  sank  lower  and  lower,  and 
at  length  cast  over  sky  and  earth  those  brilliant 
hues  which  herald  his  departure.  Their  quick  ears 
caught  the  sound  of  an  approaching  footstep.  They 
both  involuntarily  darted  to  the  door,  as  Mr.  Los 
berne  entered. 

"  What  of  Eose  ?"  cried  the  old  lady.  "  Tell  me  at 
onee !  I  can  bear  it ;  any  thing  but  suspense !  Oh, 
tell  me !  in  the  name  of  Heaven !" 

"  You  must  compose  yourself,"  said  the  doctor,  sup 
porting  her.  "  Be  calm,  my  dear  ina'ain,  pray." 

"  Let  me  go,  in  God's  name !  My  dear  child !  She 
is  dead !  She  is  dying !" 

"No!"  cried  the  doctor,  passionately.  "As  He  is 
good  and  merciful,  she  will  live  to  bless  us  all  for 
years  to  come." 

The  lady  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  tried  to  fold  her 
hands  together ;  but  the  energy  which  had  support 
ed  her  so  long,  fled  up  to  Heaven  with  her  first 
thanksgiving;  and  she  sank  into  the  MeQdly  anus 
which  were  extended  to  receive  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

CONTAINS  SOME  INTRODUCTORY  PARTICULARS  RELATIVE 
TO  A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  WHO  NOW  ARRIVES  UPON  THE 
SCENE,  AND  A  NEW  ADVENTURE  WHICH  HAPPENED  TO 
OLIVER. 

IT  was  almost  too  much  happiness  to  bear.  Oliver 
felt  stunned  and  stupefied  by  the  unexpected  in 
telligence  ;  he  could  not  weep,  or  speak,  or  rest.  He 
had  scarcely  the  power  of  understanding  any  thing 
that  had  passed,  until,  after  a  long  ramble  in  the 
quiet  evening  air,  a  burst  of  tears  came  to  his  relief, 
and  he  seemed  to  awaken,  all  at  once,  to  a  full  sense 
of  the  joyful  change  that  had  occurred,  and  the  al 
most  insupportable  load  of  anguish  which  had  been 
taken  from  his  breast. 

The  night  was  fast  closing  in  when  he  returned 
homeward,  laden  with  flowers  which  he  had  culled, 
with  peculiar  care,  for  the  adornment  of  the  sick- 
chamber.  As  he  walked  briskly  along  the  road, 
he  heard  behind  him  the  noise  of  some  vehicle,  ap 
proaching  at  a  furious  pace.  Looking  round,  he  saw 
that  it  was  a  post-chaise,  driven  at  great  speed ;  and 
as  the  horses  were  galloping,  and  the  road  was  nar 
row,  he  stood  leaning  against  a  gate  until  it  should 
have  passed  him. 

As  it  dashed  on,  Oliver  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man 
in  a  white  night-cap,  whose  face  seemed  familiar  to 
him,  although  Ms  view  was  so  brief  that  he  could 
not  identify  the  person.  In  another  second  or  two, 
the  night-cap  was  thrust  out  of  the  chaise-window, 


100 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


and  a  stentorian  voice  bellowed  to  the  driver  to 
stop ;  which  he  did,  as  soon  as  he  could  pull  up  his 
horses.  Then  the  night-cap  once  again  appeared, 
aud  the  same  voice  called  Oliver  by  his  name. 

"  Here !"  cried  the  voice.  "  Oliver,  what's  the  news  ? 
Miss  Rose !  Master  O-li-ver !" 

"Is  it  you, Giles?"  cried  Oliver, running  up  to  the 
chaise-door. 

Giles  popped  out  his  night-cap  again,  preparatory 
to  making  some  reply,  when  he  was  suddenly  pulled 
back  by  a  young  gentleman  who  occupied  the  other 
corner  of  the  chaise,  and  who  eagerly  demanded  what 
was  the  news. 

"In  a  word!"  cried  the  gentleman,  "better  or 
worse  ?" 

"Better — much  better!"  replied  Oliver, hastily. 


The  tears  stood  in  Olivers  eyes  as  he  recalled  the 
scene  which  was  the  beginning  of  so  much  happi 
ness  ;  and  the  gentleman  turned  his  face  away,  and 
remained  silent  for  some  minutes.  Oliver  thought 
he  heard  him  sob  more  than  once ;  but  he  feared  to 
interrupt  him  by  any  fresh  remark— for  he  could 
well  guess  what  his  feelings  were — and  so  stood 
apart,  feigning  to  be  occupied  with  his  nosegay. 

All  this  time  Mr.  Giles,  with  the  white  night-cap 
on,  had  been  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  chaise,  sup 
porting  an  elbow  on  each  knee,  and  wiping  his  eyes 
with  a  blue  cotton  pocket-handkerchief  dotted  with 
white  spots.  That  the  honest  fellow  had  not  been 
feigning  emotion,  was  abundantly  demonstrated  by 
the  very  red  eyes  with  which  he  regarded  the  young 
gentleman  when  he  turned  round  and  addressed  him. 


"  LOOKING   BOTTNJ),  IIE  SAW   TIIAT   IT   WAS    A   PO8T-OHAISE,  DRIVEN    AT   GREAT  SPEED. 


"  Thank  Heaven !"  exclaimed  the  gentleman.  "  You 
are  sure  ?" 

"  Quite,  sir,"  replied  Oliver.  "The  change  took 
place  only  a  few  hours  ago ;  and  Mr.  Losberne  says 
that  all  danger  is  at  an  end." 

The  gentleman  said  not  another  word,  but,  open 
ing  the  chaise-door,  leaped  out,  and  taking  Oliver 
hurriedly  by  the  arm,  led  him  aside. 

"  You  are  quite  certain  ?  There  is  no  possibility  of 
any  mistake  on  your  part,  my  boy,  is  there  I"  demanded 
the  gentleman,  in  a  tremulous  voice.  "  Do  not  deceive 
me,  by  awakening  hopes  that  are  not  to  be  fulfilled." 

"  I  would  not  for  the  world,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 
"  Indeed  you  may  believe  me.  Mr.  Losberue's  words 
were,  that  she  would  live  to  bless  us  all  for  many 
years  to  come.  I  heard  him  say  so." 


"  I  think  you  had  better  go  on  to  my  mother's  in 
the  chaise,  Giles,"  said  he.  "  I  would  rather  walk 
slowly  on,  so  as  to  gain  a  little  time  before  I  see  her. 
You  can  say  I  am  coming." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Harry,"  said  Giles,  giving 
a  final  polish  to  his  ruffled  countenance  with  the 
handkerchief;  "but  if  you  would  leave  the  postboy 
to  say  that,  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  to  you. 
It  wouldn't  be  proper  for  the  maids  to  see  me  in  this 
state,  sir ;  I  should  never  have  any  more  authority 
with  them  if  they  did." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Harry  Maylie,  smiling,  "  you  can 
do  as  you  like.  Let  him  go  on  with  the  luggage,  if 
you  wish  it,  and  do  you  follow  with  us.  Only  first 
exchange  that  night-cap  for  some  more  appropriate 
covering,  or  we  shall  be  taken  for  madmeu." 


AX  AVOWAL   OF  LOVE. 


107 


Mr.  Giles,  reminded  of  his  unbecoming  costume, 
snatched  off  and  pocketed  his  night-cap,  and  substi 
tuted  a  hat,  of  grave  and  sober  shape,  which  he  took 
out  of  the  chaise.  This  done,  the  postboy  drove  off; 
Giles,  Mr.  Maylie,  and  Oliver,  followed  at  their  leisure. 

As  they  walked  along,  Oliver  glanced  from  time  to 
time  with  much  interest  and  curiosity  at  the  new 
comer.  He  seemed  about  tive-and-tweuty  years  of 
age,  and  was  of  the  middle  height ;  his  countenance 
was  frank  and  handsome,  and  his  demeanor  easy 
and  prepossessing.  Notwithstanding  the  difference 
between  youth  and  age,  he  bore  so  strong  a  likeness 
to  the  old  lady,  that  Oliver  would  have  had  no  great 
difficulty  in  imagining  their  relationship,  if  he  had 
not  already  spoken  of  her  as  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Maylie  was  anxiously  waiting  to  receive  her 
sou  when  he  reached  the  cottage.  The  meeting  did 
not  take  place  without  great  emotion  oil  both  sides. 

"  Mother !"  whispered  the  young  man ;  "  why  did 
you  not  write  before  ?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  Mrs.  Maylie  ;  "  but,  on  reflection,  I 
determined  to  keep  back  the  letter  until  I  had  heard 
Mr.  Losberue's  opinion." 

"  But  why,"  said  the  young  man,  "  why  run  the 
chance  of  that  occurring  which  so  nearly  happened  ? 
If  Rose  had — I  can  not  utter  that  word  now — if  this 
illness  had  terminated  differently,  how  could  you 
ever  have  forgiven  yourself!  How  could  I  ever 
Lave  known  happiness  again !" 

"  If  that  had  been  the  case,  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  May- 
lie,  "  I  fear  your  happiness  would  have  been  effectual 
ly  blighted,  and  that  your  arrival  here,  a  day  sooner 
or  a  day  later,  would  have  been  of  very,  very  little 
import." 

"And  who  can  wonder  if  it  be  so,  mother?"  rejoined 
the  young  man  ;  "  or  why  should  I  say  iff — it  is — it 
is — you  know  it,  mother — you  must  know  it !" 

"  I  know  that  she  deserves  the  best  and  purest 
love  the  heart  of  man  can  offer," said  Mrs.  Maylie; 
"  I  know  that  the  devotion  and  affection  of  her  na 
ture  require  no  ordinary  return,  but  one  that  shall 
be  deep  and  lasting.  If  I  did  not  feel  this,  and 
know,  besides,  that  a  changed  behavior  in  one  she 
loved  would  break  her  heart,  I  should  not  feel  my 
task  so  difficult  of  performance,  or  have  to  encounter 
so  many  struggles  in  my  own  bosom,  when  I  take 
what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  strict  line  of  duty." 

"  This  is  unkind,  mother,"  said  Harry.  "  Do  you 
still  suppose  that  I  am  a  boy  ignorant  of  my  own 
mind,  and  mistaking  the  impulses  of  my  own  soul  ?" 

"  I  think,  my  dear  sou,"  returned  Mrs.  Maylie,  lay 
ing  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder, "  that  youth  has 
many  generous  impulses  which  do  not  last ;  and  that 
among  them  are  some  which,  being  gratified,  become 
only  the  more  fleeting.  Above  all,  I  think," said  the 
lady,  fixing  her  eyes  ou  her  son's  face, "  that  if  an 
enthusiastic,  ardent,  and  ambitious  man  marry  a 
wife  on  whose  name  there  is  a  stain,  which,  though 
it  originate  in  no  fault  of  hers,  may  be  visited  by 
••old  and  sordid  people  upon  her,  and  upon  his  chil 
dren  also  ;  and,  in  exact  proportion  to  his  success  in 
the  world,  be  cast  in  his  teeth,  and  made  the  subject 
of  sneers  against  him ;  he  may,  no  matter  how  gen 
erous  and  good  his  nature,  one  day  repent  of  the  coii- 
nei-tion  he  formed  in  early  life.  And  she  may  have 
the  pain  of  knowing  that  he  does  so." 


"Mother,"  said  the  young  man,  impatiently,  "he 
would  be  a  selfish  brute,  unworthy  alike  of  the  name 
of  man  and  of  the  woman  you  describe,  who  acted 
thus." 

"  You  think  so  now,  Harry,"  replied  his  mother. 
"And  ever  will!"  said  the  young  man.  "The 
mental  agony  I  have  suffered,  during  the  last  two 
days,  wrings  from  me  the  avowal  to  you  of  a  passion 
which,  as  you  well  know,  is  not  one  of  yesterday,  nor 
one  I  have  lightly  formed.  On  Rose,  sweet,  gentle 
girl !  my  heart  is  set  as  firmly  as  ever  heart  of  man 
was  set  on  woman.  I  have  no  thought,  no  view,  no 
hope  in  life,  beyond  her ;  and  if  you  oppose  me  in 
this  great  stake,  you  take  my  peace  and  happiness 
in  your  hands,  and  cast  them  to  the  wind.  Mother, 
think  better  of  this  and  of  me,  and  do  not  disre 
gard  the  happiness  of  which  you  seem  to  think  so 
little." 

"  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie,  "  it  is  because  I  think 
so  much  of  warm  and  sensitive  hearts,  that  I  would 
spare  them  from  being  wounded.  But  we  have  said 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  on  this  matter,  just 
now." 

"  Let  it  rest  with  Rose,  then,"  interposed  Harry. 
"  You  will  not  press  these  overstrained  opinions  of 
yours  so  far  as  to  throw  any  obstacle  in  my  way  .'" 

"  I  will  not,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Maylie ;  "  but  I  would 
have  you  consider — " 

"  I  have  considered !"  was  the  impatient  reply ; 
"  mother,  I  have  considered  years  and  years.  I  have 
considered  ever  since  I  have  been  capable  of  serious 
reflection.  My  feelings  remain  unchanged,  as  they 
ever  will ;  and  why  should  I  suffer  the  pain  of  a  de 
lay  in  giving  them  vent,  which  can  be  productive  of 
no  earthly  good?  No!  Before  I  leave  this  place, 
Rose  shall  hear  me." 

"  She  shall,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie. 
"  There  is  something  in  your  manner  which  would 
almost  imply  that  she  will  hear  me  coldly,  mother," 
said  the  young  man. 

"  Not  coldly,"  rejoined  the  old  lady ;  "  far  from  it." 
"How  then?"  urged  the  young  man.     "She  has 
formed  no  other  attachment  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  his  mother ;  "  you  have,  or  I 
mistake,  too  strong  a  hold  on  her  affections  already. 
What  I  would  say,"  resumed  the  old  lady,  stopping 
her  son  as  he  was  about  to  speak,  "  is  this.  Before 
you  stake  your  all  on  this  chance — before  you  suffer 
yourself  to  be  carried  to  the  highest  point  of  hope — 
reflect  for  a  few  moments,  my  dear  child,  on  Rose's 
history,  and  consider  what  effect  the  knowledge  of 
her  doubtful  birth  may  have  on  her  decision;  de 
voted  as  she  is  to  us,  with  all  the  intensity  of  her 
noble  mind,  and  with  that  perfect  sacrifice  of  self 
which,  in  all  matters,  great  or  trifling,  has  always 
been  her  characteristic." 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"That  I  leave  you  to  discover,"  replied  Mrs.  May- 
lie.  "  I  must  go  back  to  her.  God  bless  you !" 

"  I  shall  see  you  again  to-night  ?"  said  the  young 
man,  eagerly. 

"By-aud-by,"  replied  the  lady;  "when  I  leave 
Rose." 

"  You  will  tell  her  I  am  here  ?"  said  Harry. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Mrs.  Maylie. 

"And  say  how  anxious  I  have  been,  and  how  much 


108 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


I  have  suffered,  and  how  I  long  to  see  her.  You  will 
not  refuse  to  do  this,  mother  f 

"  No,"  said  the  old  lady ;  "  I  will  tell  her  all." 
Aud  pressing  her  sou's  hand  affectionately,  she  has 
tened  from  the  room. 

Mr.  Losberne  and  Oliver  had  remained  at  another 
end  of  the  apartment  while  this  hurried  conversa 
tion  was  proceeding.  The  former  now  held  out  his 
hand  to  Harry  Maylie,  and  hearty  salutations  were 
exchanged  between  them.  The  doctor  then  com 
municated,  in  reply  to  multifarious  questions  from 
his  young  friend,  a  precise  account  of  his  patient's 
situation,  which  was  quite  as  consolatory  and  full  of 
promise  as  Oliver's  statement  had  encouraged  him  to 
hope ;  and  to  the  whole  of  which  Mr.  Giles,  who  af 
fected  to  be  busy  about  the  luggage,  listened  with 
greedy  ears. 

"  Have  you  shot  any  thing  particular  lately,  Giles  ?" 
inquired  the  doctor,  when  he  had  concluded. 

"  Nothing  particular,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Giles,  color 
ing  up  to  the  eyes. 

"Nor  catching  any  thieves,  nor  identifying  any 
housebreakers  ?"  said  the  doctor. 

"None  at  all,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Giles,  with  much 
gravity. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it, 
because  you  do  that  sort  of  thing  admirably.  Pray 
how  is  Brittles  ?" 

"  The  boy  is  very  well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Giles,  recov 
ering  his  usual  tone  of  patronage,  "  and  sends  his  re 
spectful  duty,  sir." 

"  That's  well,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Seeing  you  here 
reminds  me,  Mr.  Giles,  that  on  the  day  before  that 
on  which  I  was  called  away  so  hurriedly,  I  executed, 
at  the  request  of  yotir  good  mistress,  a  small  com 
mission  in  your  favor.  Just  step  into  this  corner  a 
moment,  will  you  t" 

Mr.  Giles  walked  into  the  corner  with  much  im 
portance  and  some  wonder,  and  was  honored  with  a 
short  whispering  conference  with  the  doctor,  on  the 
termination  of  which  he  made  a  great  many  bows, 
and  retired  with  steps  of  unusual  stateliuess.  The 
subject-matter  of  this  conference  was  not  disclosed 
in  the  parlor,  but  the  kitchen  was  speedily  enlight 
ened  concerning  it,  for  Mr.  Giles  walked  straight 
thither,  and,  having  called  for  a  mug  of  ale,  an 
nounced,  with  an  air  of  majesty,  which  was  highly 
effective,  that  it  had  pleased  his  mistress,  in  consid 
eration  of  his  gallant  behavior  on  the  occasion  of 
that  attempted  robbery,  to  deposit,  in  the  local  sav 
ings  bank,  the  sum  of  five-aud-twenty  pounds  for 
his  sole  use  and  benefit.  At  this  the  two  women- 
servants  lifted  up  their  hands  and  eyes,  and  supposed 
that  Mr.  Giles  would  begin  to  be  quite  proud  now ; 
whereuuto  Mr.  Giles,  pulling  out  his  shirt-frill,  re 
plied,  "  No,  no ;"  and  that  if  they  observed  that  he 
was  at  all  haughty  to  his  inferiors,  he  would  thank 
them  to  tell  him  so.  And  then  he  made  a  great 
many  other  remarks,  no  less  illustrative  of  his  hu 
mility,  which  were  received  with  equal  favor  and 
applause,  and  were,  withal,  as  original  and  as  much 
to  the  purpose  as  the  remarks  of  great  men  common 
ly  are. 

Above  stairs  the  remainder  of  the  evening  passed 
cheerfully  away ;  for  the  doctor  was  in  high  spirits, 
and  however  fatigued  or  thoughtful  Harry  Maylie 


might  have  been  at  first,  he  was  not  proof  against 
the  worthy  gentleman's  good-humor,  which  display 
ed  itself  in  a  great  variety  of  sallies  and  professional 
recollections,  and  an  abundance  of  small  jokes,  which 
struck  Oliver  as  being  the  drollest  things  he  had 
ever  heard,  and  caused  him  to  laugh  proportionate 
ly,  to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  the  doctor,  who 
laughed  immoderately  at  himself,  and  made  Harry 
laugh  almost  as  heartily  by  the  very  force  of  sympa 
thy.  So  they  were  as  pleasant  a  party  as,  under  the 
circumstances,  they  could  well  have  been,  and  it  was 
late  before  they  retired,  with  light  and  thankful 
hearts,  to  take  that  rest  of  which,  after  the  doubt 
and  suspense  they  had  recently  undergone,  they  stood 
much  in  need. 

Oliver  rose  next  morning  in  better  heart,  and  went 
about  his  usual  early  occupations  with  more  hope 
and  pleasure  than  he  had  known  for  many  days. 
The  birds  were  once  more  hung  out  to  sing  in  their 
old  places,  and  the  sweetest  wild  flowers  that  could 
be  found  were  once  more  gathered  to  gladden  Rose 
with  their  beauty.  The  melancholy  which  had 
seemed  to  the  sad  eyes  of  the  anxious  boy  to  hang, 
for  days  past,  over  every  object,  beautiful  as  all  were, 
was  dispelled  by  magic.  The  dew  seemed  to  sparkle 
more  brightly  on  the  green  leaves,  the  air  to  rustle 
among  them  with  a  sweeter  music,  and  the  sky  itself 
to  look  more  blue  and  bright.  Such  is  the  influence 
which  the  condition  of  bur  own  thoughts  exercises, 
even  over  the  appearance  of  external  objects.  Men 
who  look  on  nature  and  their  fellow-men,  and  cry 
that  all  is  dark  and  gloomy,  are  in  the  right ;  but 
the  sombre  colors  are  reflections  from  their  own 
jaundiced  eyes  and  hearts.  The  real  hues  are  deli 
cate,  and  need  a  clearer  vision. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark,  and  Oliver  did  not  fail  to 
note  it  at  the  time,  that  his  morning  expeditions 
were  no  longer  made  alone.  Harry  Maylie,  after  the 
very  first  morning  when  he  met  Oliver  coming  laden 
home,  was  seized  with  such  a  passion  for  flowers, 
and  displayed  such  a  taste  in  their  arrangement, 
as  left  his  young  companion  far  behind.  If  Oliver 
•were  behindhand  in  these  respects,  however,  he  knew 
where  the  best  were  to  be  found ;  and  morning  af 
ter  morning  they  scoured  the  country  together,  and 
brought  home  the  fairest  that  blossomed.  The  win 
dow  of  the  young  lady's  chamber  was  opened  now. 
for  she  loved  to  feel  the  rich  summer  air  stream  in 
and  revive  her  with  its  freshness,  but  there  always 
stood  in  water,  just  inside  the  lattice,  one  particular 
little  bunch,  which  was  made  np  with  great  care  ev 
ery  morning.  Oliver  could  not  help  noticing  that 
the  withered  flowers  were  never  thrown  away,  al 
though  the  little  vase  was  regularly  replenished ; 
nor  could  he  help  observing  that,  whenever  the  doc 
tor  came  into  the  garden,  he  invariably  cast  his  eyes 
up  to  that  particular  corner,  and  nodded  his  head 
most  expressively  as  he  set  forth  on  his  morning's 
walk.  Pending  these  observations,  the  days  were 
flying  by,  and  Rose  was  rapidly  recovering. 

Nor  did  Oliver's  time  hang  heavily  on  his  hands, 
although  the  young  lady  had  not  yet  left  her  cham 
ber,  and  there  were  no  evening  walks,  save  now  and 
then  for  a  short  distance  with  Mrs.  Maylie.  He  ap 
plied  himself  with  redoubled  assiduity  to  the  instruc 
tions  of  the  white-headed  old  gentleman,  and  labored 


OLIVER  SLEEP-WAKIXG. 


109 


so  hard  that  his  quick  progress  surprised  even  him 
self.  It  was  while  he  was  engaged  in  this  pursuit 
that  he  was  greatly  startled  aud  distressed  by  a  most 
unexpected  occurrence. 

The  little  room  in  which  he  was  accustomed  to  sit 
when  busy  at  his  books  was  on  the  ground-floor  at 
the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  quite  a  cottage-room, 
with  a  lattice-window,  around  which  were  clusters 
of  jessamine  and  honeysuckle  that  crept  over  the 
casement  and  filled  the  place  with  their  delicious 
perfume.  It  looked  into  a  garden,  whence  a  wicket- 
gate  opened  into  a  small  paddock ;  all  beyond  was 
fine  meadow-laud  aud  wood.  There  was  no  other 
dwelling  near  in  that  direction,  and  the  prospect  it 
commanded  was  very  extensive. 

One  beautiful  evening,  when  the  first  shades  of 
twilight  were  beginning  to  settle  upon  the  earth, 
Oliver  sat  at  this  window  intent  upon  his  books. 
He  had  been  poring  over  them  for  some  time,  and  as 
the  day  had  been  uncommonly  sultry,  and  he  had 
exerted  himself  a  great  deal,  it  is  no  disparagement 
to  the  authors,  whoever  they  may  have  been,  to  say 
that  gradually  and  by  slow  degrees  he  fell  asleep. 

There  is  a  kind  of  sleep  that  steals  upon  us  some 
times,  which,  while  it  holds  the  body  prisoner,  does 
not  free  the  mind  from  a  sense  of  things  about  it  and 
enable  it  to  ramble  at  its  pleasure.  So  far  as  an 
overpowering  heaviness,  a  prostration  of  strength, 
and  an  utter  inability  to  control  our  thoughts  or 
power  of  motion  can  be  called  sleep,  this  is  it ;  and 
yet  we  have  a  consciousness  of  all  that  is  going  on 
about  us,  and,  if  we  dream  at  such  a  time,  words 
which  are  really  spoken,  or  sounds  which  really  ex 
ist  at  the  moment,  accommodate  themselves  with 
surprising  readiness  to  our  visions,  until  reality  and 
imagination  become  so  strangely  blended  that  it  is 
afterward  almost  matter  of  impossibility  to  separate 
the  two.  Nor  is  this  the  most  striking  phenome 
non  incidental  to  such  a  state.  It  is  an  undoubted 
fact,  that  although  our  senses  of  touch  and  sight  be 
for  the  time  dead,  yet  our  sleeping  thoughts  and  the 
visionary  scenes  that  pass  before  us,  will  be  influ 
enced,  and  materially  influenced,  by  the  mere  silent 
presence  of  some  external  object  which  may  not  have 
been  near  us  when  we  closed  our  eyes,  and  of  whose 
vicinity  we  have  had  no  waking  consciousness. 

Oliver  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  was  in  his  own 
little  room ;  that  his  books  were  lying  on  the  table 
before  him ;  that  the  sweet  air  was  stirring  among 
the  creeping  plants  outside.  And  yet  he  was  asleep. 
Suddenly  the  scene  changed ;  the  air  became  close 
and  confined;  and  he  thought,  with  a  glow  of  terror, 
that  he  was  in  the  Jew's  house  again.  There  sat  the 
hideous  old  man,  in  his  accustomed  corner,  pointing 
at  him,  and  whispering  to  another  man,  with  his  face 
averted,  who  sat  beside  him. 

"  Hush,  my  dear !"  he  thought  he  heard  the  Jew 
say  ;  "  it  is  he,  sure  enough.  Come  away." 

"  He  !"  the  other  man  seemed  to  answer ;  "  could 
I  mistake  him,  think  you  ?  If  a  crowd  of  ghosts  were 
to  put  themselves  into  his  exact  shape,  and  he  stood 
among  them,  there  is  something  that  would  tell  me 
how  to  point  him  out.  If  you  buried  him  fifty  feet 
deep,  aud  took  me  across  his  grave,  I  fancy  I  should 
know,  if  there  wasn't  a  mark  above  it,  that  he  lay 
buried  there !" 


The  man  seemed  to  say  this  with  such  dreadful 
hatred,  that  Oliver  awoke  with  the  fear,  and  started 
up. 

Good  Heaven !  what  was  that  which  sent  the  blood 
tingling  to  his  heart,  and  deprived  him  of  his  voice, 
and  of  power  to  move !  There — there — at  the  win 
dow — close  before  him — so  close  that  he  could  have 
almost  touched  him  before  he  started  back,  with  his 
eyes  peering  into  the  room,  and  meeting  his,  there 
stood  the  Jew!  And  beside  him,  white  with  rage  or 
fear,  or  both,  were  the  scowling  features  of  the  very 
man  who  had  accosted  him  in  the  inn-yard. 

It  was  but  an  instant,  a  glance,  a  flash,  before  his 
eyes ;  and  they  were  gone.  But  they  had  recognized 
him,  and  he  them  ;  and  their  look  was  as  firmly  im 
pressed  upon  his  memory  as  if  it  had  been  deeply 
carved  in  stone,  and  set  before  him  from  his  birth. 
He  stood  transfixed  for  a  moment ;  then,  leaping 
from  the  window  into  the  garden,  called  loudly  for 
help. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CONTAINING  THE  UNSATISFACTORY  RESULT  OF  OLIVER'S 
ADVENTURE,  AND  A  CONVERSATION  OF  SOME  IMPOR 
TANCE  BETWEEN  HARRY  MAYLIE  AND  ROSE. 

WHEN  the  inmates  of  the  house,  attracted  by 
Oliver's  cries,  hurried  to  the  spot  from  which 
they  proceeded,  they  found  him,  pale  and  agitated, 
pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  meadows  behind  the 
house,  and  scarcely  able  to  articulate  the  words, 
"  The  Jew !  the  Jew !" 

Mr.  Giles  was  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  what  this 
outcry  meant ;  but  Harry  Maylie,  whose  perceptions 
were  something  quicker,  and  who  had  heard  Oliver's 
history  from  his  mother,  understood  it  at  once. 

"  What  direction  did  he  take  ?"  he  asked,  catching 
up  a  heavy  stick  which  was  standing  in  a  corner. 

"  That,"  replied  Oliver,  pointing  out  the  course 
the  man  had  taken  ;  "  I  missed  them  in  an  instant." 

"  Then  they  are  in  the  ditch !"  said  Harry.  "  Fol 
low  !  And  keep  as  near  me  as  you  can."  So  saying, 
he  sprang  over  the  hedge,  and  darted  off  with  a  speed 
which  rendered  it  matter  of  exceeding  difficulty  for 
the  others  to  keep  near  him. 

Giles  followed  as  well  as  he  could,  and  Oliver  fol 
lowed  too ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  minute  or  two,  Mr. 
Losberne,  who  had  been  out  walking,  and  just  then 
returned,  tumbled  over  the  hedge  after  them,  and 
picking  himself  up  with  more  agility  than  he  could 
have  been  supposed  to  possess,  struck  into  the  same 
course  at  no  contemptible  speed,  shouting  all  the 
while  most  prodigiously  to  know  what  was  the  mat 
ter. 

On  they  all  went;  nor  stopped  they  once  to  breathe 
until  the  leader,  striking  off  into  an  angle  of  the  field 
indicated  by  Oliver,  began  to  search  narrowly  the 
ditch  and  hedge  adjoining,  which  afforded  time  for 
the  remainder  of  the  party  to  come  up,  and  for  Oli 
ver  to  communicate  to  Mr.  Losberne  the  circum 
stances  that  had  led  to  so  vigorous  a  pursuit. 

The  search  was  all  in  vain.  There  were  not  even 
the  traces  of  recent  footsteps  to  be  seen.  They 
stood  now  on  the  summit  of  a  little  hill  commanding 
the  open  fields  in  every  direction  for  three  or  four 


110 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


miles.  There  was  the  Tillage  in  the  hollow  on  the 
left ;  but,  in  order  to  gain  that,  after  pursuing  the 
truck  Oliver  had  pointed  out,  the  men  must  have 
made  a  circuit  of  open  ground,  which  it  was  impos 
sible  they  could  have  accomplished  in  so  short  a 
time.  A  thick  wood  skirted  the*  meadow-land  in  an 
other  direction,  but  they  could  not  have  gained  that 
covert  for  the  same  reason. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  dream,  Oliver,"  said  Harry 
Maylie. 

"Oh  no,  indeed,  sir!"  replied  Oliver,  shuddering 
at  the  very  recollection  of  the  old  wretch's  counte 
nance  ;  "  I  saw  him  too  plainly  for  that.  I  saw  them 
both  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  uow." 

"  Who  was  the  other  f"  inquired  Harry  and  Mr. 
Losberne  together. 

"  The  very  same  man  I  told  yon  of,  who  came  so 
suddenly  upon  me  at  the  inn,"  said  Oliver.  "We 
had  our  eyes  fixed  full  upon  each  other ;  and  I  could 
swear  to  him." 

"  They  took  this  way  ?"  demanded  Harry  :  "  are 
you  sure  ?" 

"  As  I  am  that  the  men  were  at  the  window,"  re 
plied  Oliver,  pointing  down  as  he  spoke  to  the  hedge 
which  divided  the  cottage  garden  from  the  meadow. 
"  The  tall  man  leaped  over  just  there ;  and  the  Jew, 
running  a  few  paces  to  the  right,  crept  through  that 
gap." 

The  two  gentlemen  watched  Oliver's  earnest  face 
as  he  spoke,  and,  looking  from  him  to  each  other, 
seemed  to  feel  satisfied  of  the  accuracy  of  what  he 
said.  Still  in  no  direction  were  there  any  appear 
ances  of  the  trampling  of  men  in  hurried  flight.  The 
grass  was  long,  but  it  was  trodden  down  nowhere, 
save  where  their  own  feet  had  crushed  it.  The  sides 
aud  brinks  of  the  ditches  were  of  damp  clay ;  but  in 
no  one  place  could  they  discern  the  print  of  men's 
shoes,  or  the  slightest  mark  which  Avould  indicate  that 
any  feet  had  pressed  the  ground  for  hours  before. 

''  This  is  strange !"  said  Harry. 

"  Strange  !"  echoed  the  doctor.  "  Blathers  and 
Duff  themselves  could  make  nothing  of  it !" 

Notwithstanding  the  evidently  useless  nature  of 
their  search,  they  did  not  desist  until  the  coming  on 
of  night  rendered  its  further  prosecution  hopeless ; 
and  even  then  they  gave  it  up  with  reluctance. 
Giles  was  dispatched  to  the  different  ale-houses  in 
the  village,  furnished  with  the  best  description  Oli 
ver  could  give  of  the  appearance  and  dress  of  the 
strangers.  Of  these  the  Jew  was,  at  all  events,  suf 
ficiently  remarkable  to  be  remembered,  supposing  he 
had  been  seen  drinking  or  loitering  about ;  but  Giles 
returned  without  any  intelligence  calculated  to  dis 
pel  or  lessen  the  mystery. 

On  the  next  day  fresh  search  was  made,  and  the 
inquiries  renewed,  but  with  no  better  success.  On 
the  day  following,  Oliver  and  Mr.  Maylie  repaired  to 
the  market-town,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  or  hearing 
something  of  the  men  there ;  but  this  effort  was 
equally  fruitless.  After  a  few  days  the  affair  began 
to  be  forgotten,  as  most  affairs  are,  when  wonder, 
having  no  fresh  food  to  support  it,  dies  away  of  it 
self. 

Meanwhile  Kose  was  rapidly  recovering.  She  had 
left  her  room ;  was  able  to  go  out ;  and,  mixing  once 
more  with  the  family,  carried  joy  into  the  hearts  of  all. 


But  although  this  happy  change  had  a  visible  ef 
fect  on  the  little  circle,  and  although  cheerful  voices 
and  merry  laughter  were  once  more  heard  in  the  cot 
tage,  there  was  at  times  an  unwonted  restraint  upon 
some  there,  even  upon  Rose  herself,  which  Oliver 
could  not  fail  to  remark.  Mrs.  Maylie  and  her  son 
were  often  closeted  together  for  fi  long  time  ;  and 
more  than  once  Rose  appeared  with  traces  of  tears 
upon  her  face.  After  Mr.  Losberne  had  fixed  a  day 
for  his  departure  to  Chertsey  these  symptoms  in 
creased;  and  it  became  evident  that  something  was 
in  progress  which  affected  the  peace  of  the  young 
lady,  and  of  somebody  else  besides. 

At  length,  one  morning,  when  Rose  was  alone  in 
the  breakfast  -  parlor,  Harry  Maylie  entered;  and, 
with  some  hesitation,  begged  permission  to  speak 
with  her  for  a  few  moments. 

"  A  few — a  very  few — will  suffice,  Rose,"  said  the 
young  man,  drawing  his  chair  toward  her.  "  What 
I  shall  have  to  say  has  already  presented  itself -to 
your  mind ;  the  most  cherished  hopes  of  my  heart  are 
not  unknown  to  you,  though  from  my  lips  you  have 
not  yet  heard  them  stated." 

Rose  had  been  very  pale  from  the  moment  of  his 
entrance,  but  that  might  have  been  the  effect  of  her 
recent  illness.  She  merely  bowed,  and,  bending 
over  some  plants  that  stood  near,  waited  in  silence 
for  him  to  proceed. 

"I  —  I  —  ought  to  have  left  here  before,"  said 
Harry. 

"  You  should,  indeed,"  replied  Rose.  "Forgive  me 
for  saying  so,  but  I  wish  you  had." 

"I  was  brought  here  by  the  most  dreadful  and 
agonizing  of  all  apprehensions,"  said  the  young  man  : 
"  the  fear  of  losing  the  one  dear  being  on  whom  my 
every  wish  and  hope  are  fixed.  You  had  been  dy 
ing —  trembling  between  earth  and  heaven.  AVe 
know  that  when  the  young,  the  beautiful,  and  good 
are  visited  with  sickness,  their  pure  spirits  insensibly 
turn  toward  their  bright  home  of  lasting  rest ;  we 
know,  Heaven  help  us!  that  the  best  and  fairest  of 
our  kind  too  often  fade  in  blooming." 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  gentle  girl  as 
these  words  were  spoken  ;  and  when  one  fell  upon 
the  flower  over  which  she  bent,  and  glistened  bright 
ly  in  its  cup,  making  it  more  beautiful,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  outpouring  of  her  fresh  young  heart 
claimed  kindred  naturally  with  the  loveliest  things 
in  nature. 

"  A  creature,"  continued  the  young  man,  passion 
ately — "  a  creature  as  fair  and  innocent  of  guile  as 
one  of  God's  own  angels,  fluttered  between  life  and 
death.  Oh!  who  could  hope,  when  the  distant 
world  to  which  she  was  akin  half  opened  to  her 
view,  that  she  would  return  to  the  sorrow  and  ca 
lamity  of  this !  Rose,  Rose,  to  know  that  you  were 
passing  away  like  some  soft  shadow  which  a  light 
from  above  casts  upon  the  earth ;  to  have  no  hope 
that  you  would  be  spared  to  those  who  linger  here  ; 
hardly  to  know  a  reason  why  you  should  be  ;  to  feel 
that  you  belonged  to  that  bright  sphere  whither  so 
many  of  the  fairest  and  the  best  have  winged  their 
early  flight ;  and  yet  to  pray,  amidst  all  these  con 
solations,  that  you  might  be  restored  to  those  who 
loved  you — these  were  distractions  almost  too  great 
to  bear.  They  were  mine,  by  day  and  night :  and 


A  LOVE  SCENE. 


Ill 


with  them  came  such  a  rushing  torrent  of  fears,  and 
apprehensions,  and  selfish  regrets,  lest  you  should 
die,  and  never  know  how  devotedly  I  loved  you,  as 
almost  bore  down  sense  and  reason  in  its  course. 
You  recovered.  Day  by  day,  and  almost  hour  by 
hour,  some  drop  of  health  came  back,  and,  mingling 
with  the  spent  and  feeble  stream  of  life  which  cir 
culated  languidly  within  you,  swelled  it  again  to  a 
high  and  rushing  tide.  I  have  watched  you  change 
almost  from  death  to  life  with  eyes  that  turned  blind 
with  their  eagerness  and  deep  atfection.  Do  not  tell 
me  that  you  wish  I  had  lost  this ;  for  it  has  softened 
in  v  heart  to  all  mankind." 


your  hand,  as  in  redemption  of  some  old  mute  con 
tract  that  had  been  sealed  between  us!  That  time 
has  not  arrived ;  but  here,  with  no  fame  won,  and  no 
young  vision  realized,  I  offer  you  the  heart  so  long 
your  owrn,  and  stake  my  all  upon  the  words  with 
which  you  greet  the  offer." 

"Your  behavior  has  ever  been  kind  and  noble," 
said  Rose,  mastering  the  emotions  by  which  she  was 
agitated.  "As  you  believe  that  I  am  not  insensible 
or  ungrateful,  so  hear  my  answer." 

"  It  is,  that  I  may  endeavor  to  deserve  you ;  it  is, 
dear  Rose  ?" 

"It  is," replied  Rose,  "that  you  must  endeavor  to 


'A    FEtf— A   VEKY    FEW— WILL   SUFFICE,  BO8E,"  SAID   TI1E   YOUNG   MAN,  DBAWING   UI8  O11AIB  TOWABJ)   IIEK. 


"  I  did  not  mean  that,"  said  Rose,  weeping  ;  "  I 
only  wish  you  had  left  here,  that  you  might  have 
turned  to  high  and  noble  pursuits  again  ;  to  pursuits 
well  worthy  of  you." 

"  There  is  no  pursuit  more  worthy  of  me,  more 
worthy  of  the  highest  nature  that  exists,  than  the 
struggle  to  win  such  a  heart  as  yours,"  said  the  young 
man,  taking  her  hand.  "  Rose,  my  own  dear  Rose ! 
For  years— for  years — I  have  loved  you ;  hoping  to 
win  my  way  to  fame,  and  then  come  proudly  home 
and  tell  you  it  had  been  pursued  only  for  you  to 
share  ;  thinking,  in  my  day-dreams,  how  I  would  re 
mind  you,  in  that  happy  moment,  of  the  many  silent 
tokens  I  had  given  of  a  boy's  attachment,  and  claim 


forget  me ;  not  as  your  old  and  dearly-attached  com 
panion,  for  that  would  wound  me  deeply,  but  as  the 
object  of  your  love.  Look  into  the  world;  think 
how  many  hearts  you  would  be  proud  to  gain  are 
there.  Confide  some  other  passion  to  me,  if  you 
will ;  I  will  be  the  truest,  warmest,  and  most  faith 
ful  friend  you  have." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Rose,  who  had 
covered  her  face  with  one  hand,  gave  free  vent  to 
her  tears.  Harry  still  retained  the  other. 

"And  your  reasons,  Rose,"  he  said  at  length,  in  a 
low  voice ;  "  your  reasons  for  this  decision  ?" 

"  You  have  a  right  to  know  them,"  rejoined  Rose. 
"  You  can  say  nothing  to  alter  my  resolution.  It  is 


112 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


a  duty  that  I  must  perform.  I  owe  it  alike  to  oth 
ers  and  to  myself." 

"To  yourself?" 

"  Yes,  Harry.  I  owe  it  to  myself,  that  I,  a  friend 
less,  portionless  girl,  with  a  blight  upon  my  name, 
should  not  give  your  friends  reason  to  suspect  that  I 
had  sordidly  yielded  to  your  first  passion,  and  fast 
ened  myself,  a  clog,  on  all  your  hopes  and  projects. 
I  owe  it  to  you  and  yours,  to  prevent  you  from  op 
posing,  in  the  warmth  of  your  generous  nature,  this 
great  obstacle  to  your  progress  in  the  world." 

"If  your  inclinations  chime  with  your  sense  of 
duty — "  Harry  began. 

"  They  do  not,"  replied  Rose,  coloring  deeply. 

"  Then  you  return  my  love  ?"  said  Harry.  "  Say 
but  that,  dear  Eose ;  say  but  that,  and  soften  the 
bitterness  of  this  hard  disappointment !" 

"  If  I  could  have  done  so,  without  doing  heavy 
wrong  to  him  I  loved,"  rejoined  Rose,  "  I  could 
have — " 

"  Have  received  this  declaration  very  differently," 
said  Harry.  "  Do  not  conceal  that  from  me,  at  least, 
Rose." 

"  I  could,"  said  Rose.  "  Stay !"  she  added,  disen 
gaging  her  hand,  "why  should  we  prolong  this  pain 
ful  interview  ?  Most  painful  to  me,  and  yet  produc 
tive  of  lasting  happiness,  notwithstanding ;  for  it 
icill  be  happiness  to  know  that  I  once  held  the  high 
place  in  your  regard  which  I  now  occupy,  and  every 
triumph  you  achieve  in  life  will  animate  me  with 
new  fortitude  and  firmness.  Farewell,  Harry !  As 
we  have  met  to-day,  we  meet  no  more ;  but  in  oth 
er  relations  than  those  in  which  this  conversation 
would  have  placed  us,  we  may  be  long  and  happily 
entwined ;  and  may  every  blessing  that  the  prayers 
of  a  true  and  earnest  heart  can  call  down  from  the 
source  of  all  truth  and  sincerity  cheer  and  prosper 
you !" 

"Another  word,  Rose,"  said  Harry.  "  Your  reason 
in  your  own  words.  From  your  own  lips  let  me 
hear  it !" 

"  The  prospect  before  you,"  answered  Rose,  firmly, 
"  is  a  brilliant  one.  All  the  honors  to  which  great 
talents  and  powerful  connections  can  help  men  in 
public  life  are  in  store  for  you.  But  those  connec 
tions  are  proud;  and  I  will  neither  mingle  with 
such  as  may  hold  in  scorn  the  mother  who  gave  me 
life,  nor  bring  disgrace  or  failure  on  the  son  of  her 
who  has  so  well  supplied  that  mother's  place.  In  a 
word,"  said  the  young  lady,  turning  away,  as  her 
temporary  firmness  forsook  her,  "there  is  a  stain 
upon  my  name  which  the  world  visits  on  innocent 
heads.  I  will  carry  it  into  no  blood  but  my  own ; 
and  the  reproach  shall  rest  alone  on  me." 

"  One  word  more,  Rose.  Dearest  Rose,  one  more !" 
cried  Harry,  throwing  himself  before  her.  "  If  I  had 
been  less — less  fortunate,  the  world  would  call  it — 
if  some  obscure  and  peaceful  life  had  been  my  des 
tiny — if  I  had  been  poor,  sick,  helpless — would  you 
have  turned  from  me  then?  Or  has  my  probable 
advancement  to  riches  and  honor  given  this  scruple 
birth?" 

"  Do  not  press  me  to  reply,"  answered  Rose.  "  The 
question  does  not  arise,  and  never  will.  It  is  unfair, 
almost  unkind,  to  urge  it." 

"  If  your  answer  be  whai  I  almost  dare  to  hope  it 


is,"  retorted  Harry,  "  it  will  shed  a  gleam  of  happi 
ness  upon  my  lonely  way,  and  light  the  path  before 
me.  It  is  not  an  idle  thing  to  do  so  much,  by  the  ut 
terance  of  a  few  brief  words,  for  one  who  loves  you 
beyond  all  else.  Oh,  Rose !  in  the  name  of  my  ar 
dent  and  enduring  attachment ;  in  the  name  of  all  I 
have  suffered  for  you,  and  all  you  doom  me  to  under 
go,  answer  me  this  one  question !" 

"  Then,  if  your  lot  had  been  differently  cast,"  re 
joined  Rose ;  "  if  you  had  been  even  a  little,  but  not 
so  far,  above  me ;  if  I  could  have  been  a  help  and 
comfort  to  you  in  any  humble  scene  of  peace  and  re 
tirement,  and  not  a  blot  and  drawback  in  ambitious 
and  distinguished  crowds,  I  should  have  been  spared 
this  trial.  I  have  every  reason  to  be  happy,  very 
happy,  now ;  but  then,  Harry,  I  own  I  should  have 
been  happier." 

Busy  recollections  of  old  hopes,  cherished  as  a  girl 
long  ago,  crowded  into  the  mind  of  Rose  while  mak 
ing  this  avowal ;  but  they  brought  tears  with  them, 
as  old  hopes  will  when  they  come  back  .withered; 
and  they  relieved  her. 

"  I  can  not  help  this  weakness,  and  it  makes  my 
purpose  stronger,"  said  Rose,  extending  her  hand. 
"  I  must  leave  you  now,  indeed." 

"  I  ask  one  promise,"  said  Harry.  "  Once,  and  only 
once  more — say  within  a  year,  but  it  may  be  much 
sooner — I  may  speak  to  you  again  on  this  subject  for 
the  last  time." 

"Not  to  press  me  to  alter  my  right  determination," 
replied  Rose,  with  a  melancholy  smile ;  "  it  will  be 
useless." 

"  No,"  said  Harry ;  "  to  hear  you  repeat  it,  if  you 
will — finally  repeat  it !  I  will  lay  at  your  feet  what 
ever  of  station  or  fortune  I  may  possess ;  and  if  you 
still  adhere  to  your  present  resolution,  will  not  seek, 
by  word  or  act,  to  change  it." 

"Then  let  it  be  so,"  rejoined  Rose  ;  "it  is  but  one 
pang  the  more,  and  by  that  time  I  may  be  enabled  to 
bear  it  better." 

She  extended  her  hand  again.  But  the  young  man 
caught  her  to  his  bosom,  and  imprinting  one  kiss  on 
her  beautiful  forehead,  hurried  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IS  A  VERY  SHORT  ONE,  AND  MAY  APPEAR  OF  NO  GREAT 
IMPORTANCE  IN  ITS  PLACE;  BUT  IT  SHOULD  BE  READ 
NOTWITHSTANDING,  AS  A  SEQUEL  TO  THE  LAST,  AND  A 
KEY  TO  ONE  THAT  WILL  FOLLOW  WHEN  ITS  TIME  AR 
RIVES. 

ND  so  you  are  resolved  to  be  my  traveling  coni- 
.  panion  this  morning,  eh  ?"  said  the  doctor,  as 
Harry  Maylie  joined  him  and  Oliver  at  the  breakfast- 
table.  "  Why,  you  are  not  in  the  same  mind  or  in 
tention  two  half  hours  together !" 

"You  will  tell  me  a  different  tale  one  of  these 
days,"  said  Harry,  coloring,  without  any  perceptible 
reason. 

"  I  hope  I  may  have  good  cause  to  do  so,"  replied 
Mr.  Losberne ;  "  though  I  confess  I  don't  think  I 
shall.  But  yesterday  morning  you  had  made  up 
your  mind,  in  a  great  hurry,  to  stay  here,  and  to  ac 
company  your  mother,  like  a  dutiful  sou,  to  the  sea- 


HARRY  MATLIE  AXD   OLIVER. 


113 


side.  Before  noon  yon  announce  that  you  are  going 
to  do  me  the  honor  of  accompanying  me  as  far  as  I 
go,  on  your  road  to  London.  And  at  night  you  urge 
inc.  with  great  mystery,  to  start  before  the  ladies  are 
stirring ;  the  consequence  of  which  is,  that  young 
Oliver  here  is  pinned  down  to  his  breakfast,  when 
he  ought  to  be  ranging  the  meadows  after  botanical 
phenomena  of  all  kinds.  Too  bad,  isn't  it,  Oliver  ?" 

"  I  should  have  been  very  sorry  not  to  have  been 
at  home  when  you  and  Mr.  Maylie  went  away,  sir," 
rejoined  Oliver. 

"  That's  a  fine  fellow !"  said  the  doctor ;  "  you  shall 
come  and  see  me  when  you  return.  But,  to  speak 
seriously,  Harry,  has  any  communication  from  the 
great  nobs  produced  this  sudden  anxiety  on  your 
part  to  be  gone  ?" 

"  The  great  nobs,"  replied  Harry,  "  under  which 
designation,  I  presume,  you  include  my  most  stately 
uncle,  have  not  communicated  with  me  at  all  since  I 
have  been  here ;  nor,  at  this  time  of  the  year,  is  it 
likely  that  any  thing  would  occur  to  render  necessa 
ry  my  immediate  attendance  among  them." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you  are  a  queer  fellow. 
But  of  course  they  will  get  you  into  Parliament  at 
the  election  before  Christmas,  and  these  sudden 
sniffings  and  changes  are  no  bad  preparation  for  po 
litical  life.  There's  something  in  that.  Good  train 
ing  is  always  desirable,  whether  the  race  be  for  place, 
cup,  or  sweepstakes." 

Harry  Maylie  looked  as  if  he  could  have  followed 
up  this  short  dialogue  by  one  or  two  remarks  that 
would  have  staggered  the  doctor  not  a  little ;  but  he 
contented  himself  with  saying,  "  We  shall  see,"  and 
pursued  the  subject  no  further.  The  post-chaise 
droA~e  up  to  the  door  shortly  afterward ;  and  Giles 
coming  in  for  the  luggage,  the  good  doctor  bustled 
out,  to  see  it  packed. 

"  Oliver,"  said  Harry  Maylie,  in  a  low  voice, "  let 
me  speak  a  word  with  you." 

Oliver  walked  into  the  window-recess  to  which 
Mr.  Maylie  beckoned  him;  much  surprised  at  the 
mixture  of  sadness  and  boisterous  spirits  which  his 
whole  behavior  displayed. 

"  You  can  write  well  now  ?"  said  Harry,  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  I  hope  so,  sir,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  I  shall  not  be  at  home  again,  perhaps,  for  some 
time  ;  I  wish  you  would  write  to  me — say  once  a 
fortnight,  every  alternate  Monday,  to  the  General 
Post-office  in  London.  \Vill  you  ?" 

"  Oh !  certainly,  sir ;  I  shall  be  proud  to  do  it,"  ex 
claimed  Oliver,  greatly  delighted  with  the  commis 
sion. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how — how  my  mother  and 
Miss  Maylie  are,"  said  the  young  man;  "and  you 
can  fill  up  a  sheet  by  telling  me  what  walks  you 
take,  and  what  you  talk  about,  and  whether  she — 
they,  I  mean — seem  happy  and  quite  well.  You  un 
derstand  me?" 

"OhT  quite,  sir,  quite,"  replied  Oliver. 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not  mention  it  to  them," 
said  Harry,  hurrying  over  his  words ;  "  because  it 
might  make  my  mother  anxious  to  write  to  me  ofteu- 
er,  and  it  is  a  trouble  and  worry  to  her.  Let  it  be  a 
sccn-t  between  you  and  me;  and  mind  you  tell  me 
every  thing !  I  depend  unon  you." 
H 


Oliver,  quite  elated  and  honored  by  a  sense  of  his 
importance,  faithfully  promised  to  be  secret  and  ex 
plicit  in  his  communications.  Mr.  Maylie  took  leave 
of  him,  with  many  assurances  of  his  regard  and  pro 
tection. 

The  doctor  was  in  the  chaise ;  Giles  (who  it  had 
been  arranged,  should  be  left  behind)  held  the  door 
open  in  his  hand,  and  the  women-servants  were  in 
the  garden,  looking  on.  Harry  cast  one  slight  glance 
at  the  latticed  window,  and  jumped  into  the  car 
riage. 

"Drive  on!"  he  cried,  "hard,  fast,  full  gallop! 
Nothing  short  of  flying  will  keep  pace  with  me  to 
day." 

"  Halloo !"  cried  the  doctor,  letting  down  the  front 
glass  in  a  great  hurry,  and  shouting  to  the  postilion ; 
"  something  very  short  of  flying  will  keep  pace  with 
me.  Do  you  hear  ?" 

Jingling  and  clattering,  till  distance  rendered  its 
noise  inaudible,  and  its  rapid  progress  only  percepti 
ble  to  the  eye,  the  vehicle  wound  its  way  along  the 
road,  almost  hidden  in  a  cloud  of  dust :  now  wholly 
disappearing,  and  now  becoming  visible  again,  as  in 
tervening  objects,  or  the  intricacies  of  the  way,  per 
mitted.  It  was  not  until  even  the  dusty  cloud  was 
no  longer  to  be  seen  that  the  gazers  dispersed. 

And  there  was  one  looker-on,  who  remained  with 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  spot  where  the  carriage  had  dis 
appeared  long  after  it  was  many  miles  away;  for, 
behind  the  white  curtain  which  had  shrouded  her 
from  view  when  Harry  raised  his  eyes  toward  the 
window,  sat  Eose  herself. 

"  He  seems  in  high  spirits  and  happy,"  she  said,  at 
length.  "  I  feared  for  a  time  he  might  be  otherwise. 
I  was  mistaken.  I  am  very,  very  glad." 

Tears  are  signs  of  gladness  as  well  as  grief;  but 
those  which  coursed  down  Rose's  face  as  she  sat  pen 
sively  at  the  window,  still  gazing  in  the  same  direc 
tion,  seemed  to  tell  more  of  sorrow  than  of  joy. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

IN  WHICH   THE  READER  MAY  PERCEIVE  A  CONTRAST  NOT 
UNCOMMON   IN   MATRIMONIAL  CASES. 

MR.  BUMBLE  sat  in  the  work-house  parlor,  with 
his  eyes  moodily  fixed  on  the  cheerless  grate, 
whence,  as  it  was  summer-time,  no  brighter  gleam 
proceeded  than  the  reflection  of  certain  sickly  rays 
of  the  sun,  which  were  sent  back  from  its  cold  and 
shining  surface.  A  paper  fly-cage  dangled  from  the 
ceiling,  to  which  he  occasionally  raised  his  eyes  in 
gloomy  thought ;  and,  as  the  heedless  insects  hov 
ered  round  the  gaudy  net- work,  Mr.  Bumble  would 
heave  a  deep  sigh,  while  a  more  gloomy  shadow 
overspread  his  countenance.  Mr.  Bumble  was  med 
itating;  it  might  be  that  the  insects  brought  to 
mind  some  painful  passage  in  his  own  past  life. 

Nor  was  Mr.  Bumble's  gloom  the  only  thing  calcu 
lated  to  awaken  a  pleasing  melancholy  in  the  bosom 
of  a  spectator.  There  were  not  wanting  other  ap 
pearances,  and  those  closely  connected  with  his  own 
person,  which  announced  that  a  great  change  had 
taken  place  in  the  position  of  his  affairs.  The  laced 
ccat  and  the  cocked  hat,  where  were  they  ?  He  still 


114 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


wore  knee-breeches,  aiid  dark  cotton  stockings  on  his 
nether  limbs  ;  but  they  were  not  the  breeches.  The 
coat  was  wide-skirted ;  and  in  that  respect  like  the 
coat,  but,  oh,  how  different !  The  mighty  cocked  hat 
was  replaced  by  a  modest  round  one.  Mr.  Bumble 
was  no  longer  a  beadle. 

There  are  some  promotions  in  life,  which,  inde 
pendent  of  the  more  substantial  rewards  they  offer, 
acquire  peculiar  value  and  dignity  from  the  coats 
and  waistcoats  connected  with  them.  A  field-mar 
shal  has  his  uniform ;  a  bishop  his  silk  apron ;  a 
counselor  his  silk  gown ;  a  beadle  his  cocked  hat. 
Strip  the  bishop  of  his  apron,  or  the  beadle  of  his 
hat  and  lace,  what  are  they?  Men.  Mere  men. 
Dignity,  and  even  holiness  too,  sometimes,  are  more 
questions  of  coat  and  waistcoat  than  some  people 
imagine. 

Mr.  Bumble  had  married  Mrs.  Corney,  and  was 
master  of  the  work -house.  Another  beadle  had 
come  into  power.  On  him  the  cocked  hat,  gold- 
laced  coat,  and  staff  had  all  three  descended. 

"And  to-morrow  two  months  it  was  done !"  said 
Mr.  Bumble,  with  a  sigh.  "  It  seems  a  age." 

Mr.  Bumble  might  have  meant  that  he  had  con 
centrated  a  whole  existence  of  happiness  into  the 
short  space  of  eight  weeks ;  but  the  sigh — there  was 
a  vast  deal  of  meaning  in  the  sigh. 

"  I  sold  myself,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  pursuing  the 
same  train  of  reflection,  "  for  six  tea-spoons,  a  pair 
of  sugar-tongs,  and  a  milk -pot,  with  a  small  quan 
tity  of  second-hand  furniture,  and  twenty  pound  in 
money.  I  went  very  reasonable.  Cheap,  dirt  cheap !" 

"  Cheap !"  cried  a  shrill  voice  in  Mr.  Bumble's  ear : 
"  you  would  have  been  dear  at  any  price ;  and  dear 
enough  I  paid  for  you,  Lord  above  knows  that !" 

Mr.  Bumble  turned,  and  encountered  the  face  of 
his  interesting  consort,  who,  imperfectly  compre 
hending  the  few  words  she  had  overheard  of  his 
complaint,  had  hazarded  the  foregoing  remark  at  a 
venture. 

"Mrs.  Bumble,  ma'am!"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  with 
sentimental  sternness. 

"  Well !"  cried  the  lady. 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  look  at  me,"  said  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her.  ("  If  she  stands  such  a 
eye  as  that,"  said  Mr.  Bumble  to  himself,  "  she  can 
stand  any  thing.  It  is  a  eye  I  never  knew  to  fail 
with  paupers.  If  it  fails  with  her,  my  power  is 
gone.") 

Whether  an  exceedingly  small  expansion  of  eye 
be  sufficient  to  quell  paupers,  who,  being  lightly  fed, 
are  in  no  very  high  condition,  or  whether  the  late 
Mrs.  Corney  was  particularly  proof  against  eagle 
glances,  are  matters  of  opinion.  The  matter  of  fact 
is,  that  the  matron  was  in  no  way  overpowered  by 
Mr.  Bumble's  scowl,  but,  on  the  contrary,  treated  it 
with  great  disdain,  and  even  raised  a  laugh  thereat 
which  sounded  as  though  it  were  genuine. 

On  hearing  this  most  unexpected  sound,  Mr.  Bum 
ble  looked,  first  incredulous,  and  afterward  amazed. 
He  then  relapsed  into  his  former  state,  nor  did  he 
rouse  himself  until  his  attention  was  again  awakened 
by  the  voice  of  his  partner. 

"Are  you  going  to  sit  snoring  there  all  day  ?"  in 
quired  Mrs.  Bumble. 

"  I  am  going  to  sit  here  as  long  as  I  think  proper, 


ma'am,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bumble ;  "  and  although  I  was 
not  snoring,  I  shall  snore,  gape,  sneeze,  laugh,  or  cry, 
as  the  humor  strikes  me ;  such  being  my  preroga 
tive." 

"  Tour  prerogative  !"  sneered  Mrs.  Bumble,  with 
ineffable  contempt. 

"  I  said  the  word,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Bumble.  "  The 
prerogative  of  a  man  is  to  command." 

"And  what's  the  prerogative  of  a  woman,  in  the 
name  of  Goodness  f '  cried  the  relict  of  Mr.  Corney 
deceased. 

"  To  obey,  ma'am,"  thundered  Mr.  Bumble.  "  Your 
late  unfortunate  husband  should  have  taught  it  you ; 
and  then,  perhaps,  he  might  have  been  alive  now.  I 
wish  he  was,  poor  man !" 

Mrs.  Bumble  seeing  at  a  glance  that  the  decisive 
moment  had  now  arrived,  and  that  a  blow  struck  for 
the  mastership  on  one  side  or  other  must  necessarily 
be  final  and  conclusive,  no  sooner  heard  this  allusion 
to  the  dead  and  gone  than  she  dropped  into  a  chair, 
and  with  a  loud  scream  that  Mr.  Bumble  was  a  hard 
hearted  brute,  fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 

But  tears  were  not  the  things  to  find  their  way  to 
Mr.  Bumble's  soul ;  his  heart  was  water-proof.  Like 
washable  beaver  hats  that  improve  with  rain,  his 
nerves  were  rendered  stouter  and  more  vigorous  by 
showers  of  tears,  which,  being  tokens  of  weakness, 
and  so  far  tacit  admissions  of  his  own  power,  pleased 
and  exalted  him.  He  eyed  his  good  lady  with  looks 
of  great  satisfaction,  and  begged,  in  an  encouraging 
manner,  that  she  should  cry  her  hardest :  the  exer 
cise  being  looked  upon  by  the  faculty  as  strongly 
conducive  to  health. 

"  It  opens  the  lungs,  washes  the  countenance,  ex 
ercises  the  eyes,  and  softens  down  the  temper,"  said 
Mr.  Bumble.  "  So  cry  away." 

As  he  discharged  himself  of  this  pleasantry,  Mr. 
Bumble  took  his  hat  from  a  peg,  and  putting  it  on, 
rather  rakishly,  on  one  side,  as  a  man  might  who  felt 
he  had  asserted  his  superiority  in  a  becoming  man 
ner,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  sauntered 
toward  the  door,  with  much  ease  and  waggishuess 
depicted  in  his  whole  appearance. 

Now,  Mrs.  Corney  that  was  had  tried  the  tears, 
because  they  were  less  troublesome  than  a  manual 
assault ;  but  she  was  quite  prepared  to  make  trial 
of  the  latter  mode  of  proceeding,  as  Mr.  Bumble  was 
not  long  in  discovering. 

The  first  proof  he  experienced  of  the  fact  was  con 
veyed  in  a  hollow  sound,  immediately  succeeded  by 
the  sudden  flying  off  of  his  hat  to  the  opposite  end 
of  the  room.  This  preliminary  proceeding  laying 
bare  his  head,  the  expert  lady,  clasping  him  tightly 
round  the  throat  with  one  hand,  inflicted  a  shower 
of  blows  (dealt  with  singular  vigor  and  dexterity) 
upon  it  with  the  other.  This  done,  she  created  a 
little  variety  by  scratching  his  face  and  tearing  his 
hair ;  and  having,  by  this  time,  inflicted  as  much 
punishment  as  she  deemed  necessary  for  the  offense, 
she  pushed  him  over  a  chair,  which  was  luckily  well 
situated  for  the  purpose,  and  defied  him  to  talk  about 
his  prerogative  again,  if  he  dared. 

"  Get  up !"  said  Mrs.  Bumble,  in  a  voice  of  com 
mand.  "And  take  yourself  away  from  here,  unless 
you  want  me  to  do  something  desperate." 

Mr.  Bumble  rose  with  a  very  rueful  countenance, 


THE  MIGHTY  FALLEN. 


115 


wondering  much  what  something  desperate  might 
be.  Picking  up  his  hat,  he  looked  toward  the  door. 

"Are  you  going  ?"  demanded  Mrs.  Bumble. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  certainly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  making  a  quicker  motion  toward  the  door.  "  I 
didn't  intend  to — I'm  going,  my  dear !  You  are  so 
very  violent,  that  really  I — 

At  this  instant  Mi's.  Bumble  stepped  hastily  for 
ward  to  replace  the  carpet,  which  had  been  kicked 
up  in  the  scuffle.  Mr.  Bumble  immediately  darted 
out  of  the  room,  without  bestowing  another  thought 
on  his  unfinished  sentence,  leaving  the  late  Mrs.  Cor- 
iiey  in  full  possession  of  the  field. 

Mr.  Bumble  was  fairly  taken  by  surprise,  and  fair 
ly  beaten.  He  had  a  decided  propensity  for  bully 
ing;  derived  no  inconsiderable  pleasure  from  the 
exercise  of  petty  cruelty  ;  and,  consequently,  was  (it 
is  needless  to  say)  a  coward.  This  is  by  no  means 
a  disparagement  to  his  character  ;  for  many  official 
personages,  who  are  held  in  high  respect  and  admi 
ration,  are  the  victims  of  similar  infirmities.  The 
remark  is  made,  indeed,  rather  in  his  favor  than  oth 
erwise,  and  with  a  view  of  impressing  the  reader 
with  a  just  sense  of  his  qualifications  for  office. 

But  the  measure  of  his  degradation  was  not  yet 
full.*  After  making  a  tour  of  the  house,  and  think 
ing,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  poor-laws  really  were 
too  hard  on  people ;  and  that  men  who  ran  away 
from  their  wives,  leaving  them  chargeable  to  the 
parish,  ought,  in  justice,  to  be  visited  with  no  pun 
ishment  at  all,  but  rather  rewarded  as  meritorious 
individuals  who  had  suffered  much ;  Mr.  Bumble 
came  to  a  room  where  some  of  the  female  paupers 
were  usually  employed  in  washing  the  parish  linen  ; 
whence  the  sound  of  voices  in  conversation  now  pro 
ceeded. 

"  Hem !"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  summoning  up  all  his 
native  dignity.  "  These  women  at  least  shall  con 
tinue  to  respect  the  prerogative.  Halloo !  halloo 
there !  What  do  you  mean  by  this  noise,  you  hus- 
sics  ?" 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Bumble  opened  the  door, 
and  walked  in  with  a  very  fierce  and  angry  manner ; 
which  was  at  once  exchanged  for  a  most  humiliated 
and  cowering  air,  as  his  eyes  unexpectedly  rested  on 
the  form  of  his  lady  wife. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  "  I  didn't  know  you 
\vere  here." 

"  Didn't  know  I  was  here !"  repeated  Mrs.  Bumble. 
"  What  do  you  do  here  f ' 

"  I  thought  they  were  talking  rather  too  much  to 
be  doing  their  work  properly,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr. 
Bumble,  glancing  distractedly  at  a  couple  of  old 
women  at  the  wash-tub,  who  were  comparing  notes 
of  admiration  at  the  work-house  master's  humility. 

"  Ton  thought  they  were  talking  too  much  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Bumble.  "  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?" 

"Why,  my  dear — "  urged  Mr.  Bumble,  submis 
sively. 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Bumble  again. 

"  It's  very  true,  you're  matron  here,  my  dear,"  sub 
mitted  Mr.  Bumble ;  "  but  I  thought  you  mightn't  be 
iu  the  way  just  then." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Bumble,"  returned  his  lady, 
"  we  don't  want  any  of  your  interference.  You're  a 


great  deal  too  fond  of  poking  your  nose  into  things 
that  don't  concern  you,  making  every  body  in  the 
house  laugh  the  moment  your  back  is  turned,  and 
making  yourself  look  like  a  fool  every  hour  in  the 
day.  Be  off ;  come !" 

Mr.  Bumble,  seeing  with  excruciating  feelings  the 
delight  of  the  two  old  paupers,  who  were  tittering 
together  most  rapturously,  hesitated  for  an  instant. 
Mrs.  Bumble,  whose  patience  brooked  no  delay, 
caught  up  a  bowl  of  soap-suds,  and  motioning  him 
toward  the  door,  ordered  him  instantly  to  depart,  on 
pain  of  receiving  the  contents  upon  his  portly  person. 

What  could  Mr.  Bumble  do  ?  He  looked  deject 
edly  round,  and  slunk  away ;  and,  as  he  reached  the 
door,  the  titterings  of  the  paupers  broke  into  a  shrill 
chuckle  of  irrepressible  delight.  It  wanted  but  this. 
He  was  degraded  in  their  eyes;  he  had  lost  caste 
and  station  before  the  very  paupers ;  he  had  fallen 
from  all  the  height  and  pomp  of  beadleship  to  the 
lowest  depth  of  the  most  snubbed  hen-peckery. 

"All  in  two  months !"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  filled  with 
dismal  thoughts.  "Two  months!  No  more  than 
two  months  ago,  I  was  not  only  my  own  master,  but 
every  body  else's,  so  far  as  the  porochial  work-house 
was  concerned,  and  now ! — " 

It  was  too  much.  Mr.  Bumble  boxed  the  ears  of 
the  boy  who  opened  the  gate  for  him  (for  he  had 
reached  the  portal  in  his  reverie),  and  walked  dis 
tractedly  into  the  street. 

He  walked  up  one  street,  and  down  another,  until 
exercise  had  abated  the  first  passion  of  his  grief; 
and  then  the  revulsion  of  feeling  made  him  thirsty. 
He  passed  a  great  many  public-houses,  but  at  length 
paused  before  one  in  a  by-way,  whose  parlor,  as  he 
gathered  from  a  hasty  peep  over  the  blinds,  was  de 
serted,  save  by  one  solitary  customer.  It  began  to 
rain  heavily  at  the  moment.  This  determined  him. 
Mr.  Bumble  stepped  in,  and,  ordering  something  to 
drink  as  he  pas§ed  the  bar,  entered  the  apartment 
into  which  he  had  looked  from  the  street. 

The  man  who  was  seated  there  was  tall  and  dark, 
and  wore  a  large  cloak.  He  had  the  air  of  a  stranger, 
and  seemed,  by  a  certain  haggardness  in  his  look,  as 
well  as  by  the  dusty  soils  on  his  dress,  to  have  trav 
eled  some  distance.  He  eyed  Bumble  askance  as  he 
entered,  but  scarcely  deigned  to  nod  his  head  in  ac 
knowledgment  of  his  salutation. 

Mr.  Bumble  had  quite  dignity  enough  for  two: 
supposing  even  that  the  stranger  had  been  more  fa 
miliar  ;  so  he  drank  his  gin-and- water  in  silence,  and 
read  the  paper  with  great  show  of  pomp  and  circum 
stance. 

It  so  happened,  however,  as  it  will  happen  very 
often  when  men  fall  into  company  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  that  Mr.  Bumble  felt  every  now  and  then 
a  powerful  inducement,  which  he  could  not  resist,  to 
steal  a  look  at  the  stranger ;  and  that  whenever  he 
did  so,  he  withdrew  his  eyes,  in  some  confusion,  to 
find  that  the  stranger  was  at  that  moment  stealing 
a  look  at  him.  Mr.  Bumble's  awkwardness  was  en 
hanced  by  the  very  remarkable  expression  of  the 
stranger's  eye,  which  was  keen  and  bright,  but  shad 
owed  by  a  scowl  of  distrust  and  suspicion,  unlike 
any  thing  he  had  ever  observed  before,  and  repulsive 
to  behold. 

When  they  had  encountered  each  other's  glance 


116 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


several  times  in  this  way,  the  stranger,  in  a  harsh, 
deep  voice,  broke  silence. 

"  Were  you  looking  for  me,';  he  said,  "  when  you 
peered  in  at  the  window  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of,  unless  you're  Mr.  — 
Here  Mr.  Bumble  stopped  short ;  for  he  was  curious 
to  know  the  stranger's  name,  and  thought,  in  his  im 
patience,  he  might  supply  the  blank. 

"I  see  you  were  not,"  said  the  stranger,  an  ex 
pression  of  quiet  sarcasm  playing  about  his  mouth  ; 
"or  you  would  have  known  my  name.  You  don't 
know  it.  I  would  recommend  you  not  to  ask  for  it." 

"  I  meant  no  harm,  young  man,"  observed  Mr. 
Bumble,  majestically. 

"And  have  done  none,"  said  the  stranger. 


looking  keenly  into  Mr.  Bumble's  eyes  as  he  raised 
them  in  astonishment  at  the  question.  "  Don't  scru 
ple  to  answer  freely,  man.  I  know  you  pretty  well, 
you  see." 

"  I  suppose,  a  married  man,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  surveying  the 
stranger  from  head  to  foot  in  evident  perplexity,  "  is 
not  more  averse  to  turning  an  honest  penny  when  he 
can,  than  a  single  one.  Porochial  officers  are  not  so 
well  paid  that  they  can  afford  to  refuse  any  little 
extra  fee,  when  it  comes  to  them  in  a  civil  and  prop 
er  manner." 

The  stranger  smiled,  and  nodded  his  head  again ; 
as  much  as  to  say,  he  had  not  mistaken  his  man  ; 
then  rang  the  bell. 


YOC  LOOKING  FOB  ME,"  UE  8AII),  "WHEN  YOU  PEERED  IN  AT  TUB  WIN 


Another  silence  succeeded  this  short  dialogue, 
which  was  again  broken  by  the  stranger. 

"  I  have  seen  you  before,  I  think  ?"  said  he.  "  You 
were  differently  dressed  at  that  time,  and  I  only 
passed  you  in  the  street,  but  I  should  know  you 
again.  You  were  beadle  here  once,  were  you  not  ?" 

"  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  in  some  surprise — "  po- 
rochial  beadle." 

"  Just  so,"  rejoined  the  other,  nodding  his  head.  "  It 
was  in  that  character  I  saw  you.  What  are  you  now  ?" 

"  Master  of  the  work-house,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bumble, 
slowly  and  impressively,  to  check  any  undue  famil 
iarity  the  stranger  might  otherwise  assume.  "  Mas 
ter  of  the  work-house,  young  man !" 

"  You  have  the  same  eye  to  your  own  interest  that 
you  always  had,  I  doubt  not  T"  resumed  the  stranger. 


"  Fill  this  glass  again,"  he  said,  handing  Mr.  Bmn- 
ble's  empty  tumbler  to  the  landlord.  "Let  it  be 
strong  and  hot.  You  like  it  so,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Not  too  strong,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble,  with  a  deli 
cate  cough. 

"  You  understand  what  that  means,  landlord !'' 
said  the  stranger,  dryly. 

The  host  smiled,  disappeared,  and  shortly  after 
ward  returned  with  a  steaming  jorum,  of  which  the 
first  gulp  brought  the  water  into  Mr.  Bumble's  eyes. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  said  the  stranger,  after  clos 
ing  the  door  and  window.  "I  came  down  to  this 
place  to-day  to  find  you  out ;  and,  by  one  of  those 
chances  which  the  devil  throws  in  the  way  of  his 
friends  sometimes,  you  walked  into  the  very  room  I 
was  sitting  in  while  you  were  uppermost  in  my  mind. 


AXD  HllS.  BUMBLE. 


117 


I  want  some  information  from  you.     I  don't  ask  you  • 
to  give  it  for  nothing,  slight  as  it  is.     Put  up  that, 
to  begin  with." 

As  he  spoke,  he  pushed  a  couple  of  sovereigns 
across  the  table  to  his  companion  carefully,  as  though 
unwilling  that  the  chinking  of  money  should  be  heard 
without.  When  Mr.  Bumble  had  scrupulously  ex 
amined  the  coins,  to  see  that  they  were  genuine,  and 
had  put  them  up,  with  much  satisfaction,  in  his 
waistcoat-pocket,  he  went  on  : 

"  Carry  your  memory  back — let  me  see — twelve 
years,  last  winter." 

"  It's  a  long  time,"  said  Mr.  Bumble.  "  Very  good. 
I've  done  it." 

"  The  scene,  the  work-house." 

"Good!" 

"  And  the  time,  night." 

"  Yes." 

"And  the  place,  the  crazy  hole,  wherever  it  was, 
in  which  miserable  drabs  brought  forth  the  life  and 
health  so  often  denied  to  themselves — gave  birth  to 
puling  children  for  the  parish  to  rear ;  and  hid  their 
shame,  rot  'em,  in  the  grave." 

"  The  lying-in  room,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
not  quite  following  the  stranger's  excited  descrip 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger.  "A  boy  was  born 
there." 

"A  many  boys,"  observed  Mr.  Bumble,  shaking  his 
head  despondingly. 

"A  murrain  on  the  young  devils!"  cried  the 
stranger;  "I  speak  of  one;  a  meek -looking,  pale- 
faced  boy,  who  was  apprenticed  down  here  to  a  cof- 
tiu-maker — I  wish  he  had  made  his  coffin,  and  screwed 
his  body  in  it — and  who  afterward  ran  away  to  Lon 
don,  as  it  was  supposed." 

"  Why,  you  mean  Oliver !  Young  Twist !"  said 
Mr.  Bumble  ;  "  I  remember  him,  of  course.  There 
wasn't  a  obstinater  young  rascal — " 

"  It's  not  of  him  I  want  to  hear  ;  I've  heard  enough 
of  him,"  said  the  stranger,  stopping  Mr.  Bumble  in 
the  outset  of  a  tirade  on  the  subject  of  poor  Oliver's 
vices.  "  It's  of  a  woman ;  the  hag  that  nursed  bis 
mother.  Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  whom  the  gin- 
und-water  had  rendered  facetious.  "  It  would  be 
hard  to  tell.  There's  no  midwifery  there,  which 
ever  place  she's  gone  to ;  so  I  suppose  she's  out  of 
employment,  any  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  the  stranger, 
sternly. 

"  That  she  died  last  winter,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bumble. 

The  man  looked  fixedly  at  him  when  he  had  given 
this  information  ;  and  although  he  did  not  withdraw 
his  eyes  for  some  time  afterward,  his  gaze  gradually 
became  vacant  and  abstracted,  and  he  seemed  lost 
in  thought.  For  some  time  he  appeared  doubtful 
whether  he  ought  to  be  relieved  or  disappointed  by 
the  intelligence ;  but  at  length  he  breathed  more 
freely,  and,  withdrawing  his  eyes,  observed  that  it 
was  no  great  matter.  With  that  he  rose,  as  if  to 
depart. 

But  Mr.  Bumble  was  cunning  enough  ;  and  he  at 
once  saw  that  an  opportunity  was  opened  for  the 
lucrative  disposal  of  some  secret  in  the  possession  of 
his  better  half.  He  well  remembered  the  night  of 


old  Sally's  death,  which  the  occurrences  of  that  day 
had  given  him  good  reason  to  recollect,  as  the  occa 
sion  on  which  he  had  proposed  to  Mrs.  Corney  ;  and 
although  that  lady  had  never  confided  to  him  the 
disclosure  of  which  she  had  been  the  solitary  witness, 
he  had  heard  enough  to  know  that  it  related  to  some 
thing  that  had  occurred  in  the  old  woman's  attend 
ance,  as  work-house  nurse,  upon  the  young  mother 
of  Oliver  Twist.  Hastily  calling  this'  circumstance 
to  mind,  he  informed  the  stranger,  with  an  air  of 
mystery,  that  one  woman  had  been  closeted  with  the 
old  harridan  shortly  before  she  died ;  and  that  she 
could,  as  he  had  reason  to  believe,  throw  some  light 
on  the  subject  of  his  inquiry. 

"  How  can  I  find  her  f"  said  the  stranger,  thrown 
off  his  guard  ;  and  plainly  showing  that  all  his  fears 
(whatever  they  were)  were  aroused  afresh  by  the  in 
telligence. 

"  Only  through  me,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bumble. 

"  When  ?"  cried  the  stranger,  hastily. 

"  To-morrow,"  rejoined  Bumble. 

"At  nine  in  the  evening/'  said  the  stranger,  pro 
ducing  a  scrap  of  paper,  and  writing  down  upon  it 
an  obscure  address  by  the  water-side,  in  characters 
that  betrayed  his  agitation ;  "  at  nine  in  the  evening 
bring  her  to  me  there.  I  needn't  tell  you  to  be  se 
cret.  It's  your  interest." 

With  these  words,  he  led  the  way  to  the  door,  after 
stopping  to  pay  for  the  liquor  that  had  been  drunk. 
Shortly  remarking  that  their  roads  were  different, 
he  departed,  without  more  ceremony  than  an  ejn- 
phatic  repetition  of  the  hour  of  appointment  for  the 
following  night. 

On  glancing  at  the  address,  the  parochial  function 
ary  observed  that  it  contained  no  name.  The  stran 
ger  had  not  gone  far,  so  he  made  after  him  to  ask  it. 

"What  do  you  want?"  cried  the  man,  turning 
quickly  round,  as  Bumble  touched  him  on  the  arm. 
"  Following  me  !" 

"  Only  to  ask  a  question,"  said  the  other,  pointing 
to  the  scrap  of  paper.  "  What  name  am  I  to  ask  for  ?" 

"Monks!"  rejoined  the  man;  and  strode  hastily 
away. 


CHAPTER  XXXVin. 

CONTAINING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  WHAT  PASSED  BETWEEN  MR. 
AND  MRS.  BUMBLE  AND  MR.  MONKS  AT  THEIR  NOCTUR 
NAL  INTERVIEW. 

IT  was  a  dull,  close,  overcast  summer  evening. 
The  clouds,  which  had  been  threatening  all  day. 
spread  out  in  a  dense  and  sluggish  mass  of  vapor, 
already  yielded  large  drops  of  rain,  and  seemed  to 
presage  a  violent  thunder-storm,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bumble,  turning  out  of  the  main  street  of  the  town, 
directed  their  course  toward  a  scattered  little  colony 
of  ruinous  houses,  distant  from  it  some  mile  and  a 
half,  or  thereabout,  and  erected  on  a  low  unwhole 
some  swamp  bordering  upon  the  river. 

They  were  both  wrapped  in  old  and  shabby  outer 
garments,  which  might,  perhaps,  serve  the  double 
purpose  of  protecting  their  persons  from  the  rain 
and  sheltering  them  from  observation.  The  husband 
carried  a  lantern,  from  which,  however,  no  light  yet 
shone,  and  trudged  on  a  few  paces  in  front,  as  though 


118 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


— the  way  being  dirty — to  give  his  wife  the  benefit 
of  treading  in  his  heavy  foot-prints.  They  went  on 
in  profound  silence  ;  every  now  and  then  Mr.  Bum 
ble  relaxed  his  pace,  and  turned  his  head  as  if  to 
make  sure  that  Ms  helpmate  was  following ;  then 
discovering  that  she  was  close  at  his  heels,  he  mend 
ed  his  rate  of  walking,  and  proceeded,  at  a  considera 
ble  increase  of  speed,  toward  their  place  of  destination. 

This  was  far  from  being  a  place  of  doubtful  char 
acter  ;  for  it  had  long  been  known  as  the  residence 
of  none  but  low  ruffians,  who,  under  various  pre 
tenses  of  living  by  their  labor,  subsisted  chiefly  on 
plunder  and  crime.  It  was  a  collection  of  mere  hov 
els,  some  hastily  built  with  loose  bricks,  others  of 
old  worm-eaten  ship-timber,  jumbled  together  with 
out  any  attempt  at  order  or  arrangement,  and  plant 
ed,  for  the  most  part,  within  a  few  feet  of  the  river's 
bank.  A  few  leaky  boats  drawn  up  on  the  mud,  and 
made  fast  to  the  dwarf  wall  which  skirted  it ;  and 
here  and  there  an  oar  or  coil  of  rope,  appeared,  at 
first,  to  indicate  that  the  inhabitants  of  these  miser 
able  cottages  pursued  some  avocation  on  the  river ; 
but  a  glance  at  the  shattered  and  useless  condition 
of  the  articles  thus  displayed  would  have  led  a  pass 
er-by,  without  much  difficulty,  to  the  conjecture  that 
they  were  disposed  there  rather  for  the  preservation 
of  appearances  than  with  any  view  to  their  being 
actually  employed. 

In  the  heart  of  this  cluster  of  huts,  and  skirting 
the  river,  which  its  upper  stories  overhung,  stood  a 
large  building,  formerly  used  as  a  manufactory  of 
some  kind.  It  had,  in  its  day,  probably  furnished 
employment  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding 
tenements.  But  it  had  long  since  gone  to  ruin.  The 
rat,  the  worm,  and  the  action  of  the  damp,  had  weak 
ened  and  rotted  the  piles  on  which  it  stood ;  and  a 
considerable  portion  of  the  building  had  already  sunk 
down  into  the  water ;  while  the  remainder,  tottering 
and  bending  over  the  dark  stream,  seemed  to  wait 
a  favorable  opportunity  of  following  its  old  compan 
ion,  and  involving  itself  in  the  same  fate. 

It  was  before  this  ruinous  building  that  the  wor 
thy  couple  paused,  as  the  first  peal  of  distant  thun 
der  reverberated  in  the  air,  and  the  rain  commenced 
pouring  violently  down. 

"  The  place  should  be  somewhere  here,"  said  Bum 
ble,  consulting  a  scrap  of  paper  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Halloo  there !"  cried  a  voice  from  above. 

Following  the  sound,  Mr.  Bumble  raised  his  head, 
and  descried  a  man  looking  out  of  a  door,  breast- 
high,  on  the  second  story. 

"  Stand  still  a  minute,"  cried  the  voice ;  "  I'll  be 
with  you  directly."  With  which  the  head  disap 
peared,' and  the  door  closed. 

"  Is  that  the  man  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bumble's  good  lady. 

Mr.  Bumble  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then  mind  what  I  told  yon,"  said  the  matron ; 
"  and  be  careful  to  say  as  little  as  you  can,  or  you'll 
betray  us  at  once." 

Mr.  Bumble,  who  had  eyed  the  building  with  very 
rueful  looks,  was  apparently  about  to  express  some 
doubts  relative  to  the  advisability  of  proceeding  any 
farther  with  the  enterprise  just  then,  when  he  was 
prevented  by  the  appearance  of  Monks,  who  opened 
a  small  door,  near  which  they  stood,  and  beckoned 
them  inward. 


"  Come  in !"  he  cried,  impatiently,  stamping  his 
foot  upon  the  ground.  "  Don't  keep  me  here !" 

The  woman,  who  had  hesitated  at  first,  walked 
boldly  in,  without  any  other  invitation.  Mr.  Bum 
ble,  who  was  ashamed  or  afraid  to  lag  behind,  fol 
lowed  ;  obviously  very  ill  at  ease,  and  with  scarcely 
any  of  that  remarkable  dignity  which  was  usually 
his  chief  characteristic. 

"  What  the  devil  made  you  stand  lingering  there 
in  the  wet  ?"  said  Monks,  turning  round  and  address 
ing  Bumble,  after  he  had  bolted  the  door  behind 
them. 

"  We — we  were  only  cooling  ourselves,"  stammer 
ed  Bumble,  looking  apprehensively  about  him. 

"  Cooling  yourselves !"  retorted  Monks.  "  Not  all 
the  rain  that  ever  fell,  or  ever  will  fall,  will  put  as 
much  of  hell's  fire  out  as  a  man  can  carry  about 
with  him.  You  won't  cool  yourselves  so  easily ;  don't 
think  it !" 

With  this  agreeable  speech,  Monks  turned  short 
upon  the  matron,  and  bent  his  gaze  upon  her,  till 
even  she,  who  was  not  easily  cowed,  was  fain  to 
withdraw  her  eyes,  and  turn  them  toward  the  ground. 

"  This  is  the  woman,  is  it  ?"  demanded  Monks. 

"  Hem !  That  is  the  woman,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble, 
mindful  of  his  wife's  caution. 

"  You  think  women  never  can  keep  secrets,  I  sup 
pose  ?"  said  the  matron,  interposing,  and  returning, 
as  she  spoke,  the  searching  look  of  Monks. 

"  I  know  they  will  always  keep  one  till  it's  found 
out,"  said  Monks. 

"  And  what  may  that  be  ?"  asked  the  matron. 

"  The  loss  of  their  own  good  name,"  replied  Monks. 
"  So,  by  the  same  rule,  if  a  woman's  a  party  to  a  se 
cret  that  might  hang  or  transport  her,  I'm  not  afraid 
of  her  telling  it  to  any  body ;  not  I !  Do  you  under 
stand,  mistress  ?" 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  matron,  slightly  coloring  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Of  course  you  don't !"  said  Monks.  "  How  should 
you?" 

Bestowing  something  half-way  between  a  smile 
and  a  frown  upon  his  two  companions,  and  again 
beckoning  them  to  follow  him,  the  man  hastened 
across  the  apartment,  which  was  of  considerable  ex 
tent,  but  low  in  the  roof.  He  was  preparing  to  as 
cend  a  steep  staircase,  or  rather  ladder,  leading  to 
another  floor  of  warehouses  above,  when  a  bright 
flash  of  lightning  streamed  down  the  aperture,  and 
a  peal  of  thunder  followed,  which  shook  the  crazy 
building  to  its  centre. 

"  Hear  it !"  he  cried,  shrinking  back.  "  Hear  it ! 
Rolling  and  crashing  on  as  if  it  echoed  through  a 
thousand  caverns  where  the  devils  were  hiding  from 
it.  I  hate  the  sound !" 

He  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments ;  and  then, 
removing  his  hands  suddenly  from  his  face,  showed, 
to  the  unspeakable  discomposure  of  Mr.  Bumble,  that 
it  was  much  distorted  and  discolored. 

"  These  fits  come  over  me,  now  and  then,"  said 
Monks,  observing  his  alarm ;  "  and  thunder  some 
times  brings  them  on.  Don't  mind  me  now ;  it's  all 
over  for  this  once." 

Thus  speaking,  he  led  the  way  up  the  ladder ;  and 
hastily  closing  the  window-shutter  of  the  room  into 
which  it  led,  lowered  a  lantern  which  hung  at  the 


MRS.  BUMBLE  MANAGES  THE  CONFERENCE. 


119 


end  of  a  rope  and  pulley  passed  through  one  of  the 
heavy  beams  in  the  ceiling ;  and  which  cast  a  dim 
light  upon  an  old  table  and  three  chairs  that  were 
placed  beneath  it. 

"  Now,"  said  Monks,  when  they  had  all  three  seat 
ed  themselves,  "  the  sooner  we  come  to  our  business, 
the  better  for  all.  The  woman  knows  what  it  is, 
does  she  ?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  Bumble;  but  his 
wife  anticipated  the  reply,  by  intimating  that  she 
was  perfectly  acquainted  with  it. 

"  He  is  right  in  saying  that  you  were  with  this  hag 
the  night  she  died ;  and  that  she  told  you  something — : 

"About  the  mother  of  the  boy  you  named,"  replied 
the  matron,  interrupting  him.  "  Yes." 

"The  first  question  is,  of  what  nature  was  her 
communication  ?"  said  Monks. 

"  That's  the  second,"  observed  the  woman,  with 
much  deliberation.  "The  first  is,  what  may  the 
communication  be  worth  ?" 

"Who  the  devil  can  tell  that,  without  knowing  of 
•what  kind  it  is  ?"  asked  Monks. 

"  Nobody  better  than  you,  I  am  persuaded,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Bumble ;  who  did  not  want  for  spirit,  as 
her  yoke-fellow  could  abundantly  testify. 

"  Humph !"  said  Monks  significantly,  and  with  a 
look  of  eager  inquiry ;  "  there  may  be  money's  worth 
to  get,  eh  f 

"  Perhaps  there  may,"  was  the  composed  reply. 

"  Something  that  was  taken  from  her,"  said  Monks. 
"  Something  that  she  wore.  Something  that — 

"  You  had  better  bid,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Bumble. 
"  I  have  heard  enough,  already,  to  assure  me  that 
you  are  the  man  I  ought  to  talk  to." 

Mr.  Bumble,  who  had  not  yet  been  admitted  by 
his  better  half  into  any  greater  share  of  the  secret 
than  he  had  originally  possessed,  listened  to  this  dia 
logue  with  outstretched  neck  and  distended  eyes; 
which  he  directed  toward  his  wife  and  Monks,  by 
turns,  in  undisguised  astonishment;  increased,  if 
possible,  when  the  latter  sternly  demanded  what 
sum  was  required  for  the  disclosure. 

"What's  it  worth  to  you?"  asked  the  woman, as 
collectedly  as  before. 

"  It  may  be  nothing ;  it  may  be  twenty  pounds," 
replied  Monks.  "  Speak  out,  and  let  me  know  which." 

"Add  five  pounds  to  the  sum  you  have  named; 
give  me  five-and-twenty  pounds  in  gold,"  said  the 
woman,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know.  Not  before." 

"  Five -and -twenty  pounds!"  exclaimed  Monks, 
drawing  back. 

"  I  spoke  as  plainly  as  I  could,"  replied  Mrs.  Bum 
ble.  "  It's  not  a  large  sum,  either." 

"  Not  a  large  sum  for  a  paltry  secret  that  may  be 
nothing  when  it's  told !"  cried  Monks,  impatiently ; 
"and  which  has  been  lying  dead  for  twelve  years 
past  or  more !" 

"  Such  matters  keep  well,  and,  like  good  wine,  oft 
en  double  their  value  in  course  of  time,"  answered 
the  matron,  still  preserving  the  resolute  indifference 
she  had  assumed.  "  As  to  lying  dead,  there  are  those 
who  will  lie  dead  for  twelve  thousand  years  to  come, 
or  twelve  million,  for  any  thing  you  or  I  know,  who 
will  tell  strange  tales  at  last !" 

"  What  if  I  pay  it  for  nothing  ?"  asked  Monks,  hes 
itating. 


"  You  can  easily  take  it  away  again,"  replied  the 
matron.  "  I  ain  but  a  woman,  alone  here,  and  un 
protected." 

"Not  alone,  my  dear,  nor  unprotected  neither," 
submitted  Mr.  Bumble,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
fear :  "J  am  here,  my  dear.  And  besides,"  said  Mr. 
Bumble, his  teeth  chattering  as  he  spoke,  "Mr. Monks 
is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  attempt  any  violence 
on  porochial  persons.  Mr.  Monks  is  aware  that  I 
am  not  a  young  man,  my  dear,  and  also  that  I  am  a 
little  run  to  seed,  as  I  may  say ;  but  he  has  heerd — I 
say  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Monks  has  heerd,  my  dear — 
that  I  am  a  very  determined  officer,  with  very  un 
common  strength,  if  I'm  once  roused.  I  only  want 
a  little  rousing ;  that's  all." 

As  Mr.  Bumble  spoke,  he  made  a  melancholy  feint 
of  grasping  his  lantern  with  fierce  determination, 
and  plainly  showed,  by  the  alarmed  expression  of  ev 
ery  feature,  that  he  did  want  a  little  rousing,  and  not 
a  little,  prior  to  making  any  very  warlike  demonstra 
tion — unless,  indeed,  against  paupers,  or  other  per 
son  or  persons  trained  down  for  the  purpose. 

"You  are  a  fool," said  Mrs.  Bumble,  in  reply;  "and 
had  better  hold  your  tongue." 

"  He  had  better  have  cut  it  out,  before  he  came,  if 
he  can't  speak  in  a  lower  tone,"  said  Monks,  grimly. 
"  So !  He's  your  husband,  eh  ?" 

"  He  my  husband !"  tittered  the  matron,  parrying 
the  question. 

"  I  thought  as  much,  when  you  came  in,"  rejoined 
Monks,  marking  the  angry  glance  which  the  lady 
darted  at  her  spouse  as  she  spoke.  ""So  much  the 
better;  I  have  less  hesitation  in  dealing  with  two 
people,  when  I  find  that  there's  only  one  will  be 
tween  them.  I'm  in  earnest.  See  here !" 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  a  side-pocket ;  and  pro 
ducing  a  canvas  bag,  told  out  twenty-five  sovereigns 
on  the  table,  and  pushed  them  over  to  the  woman. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  gather  them  up ;  and  when  this 
cursed  peal  of  thunder,  which  I  feel  is  coming  up 
to  break  over  the  house-top,  is  gone,  let's  hear  your 
story." 

The  thunder,  which  seemed  in  fact  much  nearer, 
and  to  shiver  and  break  almost  over  their  heads, 
having  subsided,  Monks,  raising  his  face  from  the 
table,  bent  forward  to  listen  to  what  the  woman 
should  say.  The  faces  of  the  three  nearly  touched, 
as  the  two  men  leaned  over  the  small  table  in  their 
eagerness  to  hear,  and  the  woman  also  leaned  for 
ward  to  render  her  whisper  audible.  The  sickly 
rays  of  the  suspended  lantern  falling  directly  upon 
them,  aggravated  the  paleness  and  anxiety  of  their 
countenances,  which,  encircled  by  the  deepest  gloom 
and  darkness,  looked  ghastly  in  the  extreme. 

"When  this  woman, that  we  called  old  Sally,died," 
the  matron  began,  "  she  and  I  were  alone." 

"  Was  there  no  one  by  ?"  asked  Monks,  in  the  same 
hollow  whisper;  "no  sick  wretch  or  idiot  in  some 
other  bed  ?  No  one  who  could  hear,  and  might,  by 
possibility,  understand  f " 

"  Not  a  soul,"  replied  the  woman ;  "  we  were  alone. 
/  stood  alone  beside  the  body  when  death  came  over 
it." 

"Good!"  said  Monks,  regarding  her  attentively. 
"  Go  on." 

"She  spoke  of  a  young  creature,"  resumed  the 


120 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


matron,  "  who  had  brought  a  child  into  the  world 
some  years  before ;  not  merely  in  the  same  room,  but 
in  the  same  bed,  in  which  she  then  lay  dying." 

"Ay?"  said  Monks,  with  quivering  lip,  and  glan 
cing  over  his  shoulder.  "  Blood !  How  things  come 
about !" 

"The  child  was  the  one  you  named  to  him  last 
night,"  said  the  matron,  nodding  carelessly  toward 
her  husband ;  "  the  mother  this  nurse  had  robbed." 

"  In  life  ?"  asked  Monks. 

"  In  death,"  replied  the  woman,  with  something 
like  a  shudder.  "  She  stole  from  the  corpse,  when  it 
had  hardly  turned  to  one,  that  which  the  dead  moth 
er  had  prayed  her,  with  her  last  breath,  to  keep  for 
the  infant's  sake." 

"  She  sold  it  ?"  cried  Monks,  with  desperate  eager 
ness  ;  "  did  she  sell  it  ?  Where  ?  When  ?  To  whom  ? 
How  long  before  ?" 

"As*  she  told  me,  with  great  difficulty,  that  she 
had  done  this,"  said  the  matron,  "  she  fell  back  and 
died." 

"  Without  saying  more  ?"  cried  Monks,  in  a  voice 
which,  from  its  very  suppression,  seemed  only  the 
more  furious.  "  It's  a  lie !  I'll  not  be  played  with. 
She  said  more.  I'll  tear  the  life  out  of  you  both,  but 
I'll  know  what  it  was." 

"  She  didn't  utter  another  word,"  said  the  woman, 
to  all  appearance  unmoved  (as  Mr.  Bumble  was  very 
far  from  being)  by  the  strange  man's  violence  ;  "  but 
she  clutched  my  gown  violently  with  one  hand,  which 
was  partly  closed;  and  when  I  saw  that  she  was 
dead,  and  sd  removed  the  hand  by  force,  I  found  it 
clasped  a  scrap  of  dirty  paper." 

"  Which  contained — "  interposed  Monks,  stretch 
ing  forward. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  woman ;  "  it  was  a  pawn 
broker's  duplicate." 

"  For  what  ?"  demanded  Monks. 

"  In  good  time  I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  woman.  "  I 
judge  that  she  had  kept  the  trinket  for  some  time, 
iu  the  hope  of  turning  it  to  better  account,  and  then 
had  pawned  it ;  and  had  saved  or  scraped  together 
money  to  pay  the  pawnbroker's  interest  year  by  year, 
and  prevent  its  running  out;  so  that  if  any  thing 
came  of  it,  it  could  still  be  redeemed.  Nothing  had 
come  of  it ;  and,  as  I. tell  you,  she  died  with  the  scrap 
of  paper,  all  worn  and  tattered,  in  her  hand.  The 
time  was  out  in  two  days;  I  thought  something 
might  one  day  come  of  it  too,  and  so  redeemed  the 
pledge." 

"Where  is  it  now  ?"  asked  Monks,  quickly. 

" There"  replied  the  woman.  And,  as  if  glad  to 
be  relieved  of  it,  she  hastily  threw  upon  the  table  a 
.small  kid  bag  scarcely  large  enough  for  a  French 
watch,  which  Monks  pouncing  upon,  tore  open  with 
trembling  hands.  It  contained  a  little  gold  locket, 
in  which  were  two  locks  of  hair  and  a  plain  gold 
wedding-ring. 

"  It  has  the  word  '  Agnes '  engraved  on  the  in- 
wide,"  said  the  woman.  "  There  is  a  blank  left  for 
the  surname;  and  then  follows  the  date,  which  is 
within  a  year  before  the  child  was  born.  I  found 
out  that," 

"  And  this  is  all  ?"  said  Monks,  after  a  close  and 
eager  scrutiny  of  the  contents  of  the  little  packet. 

"All,"  replied  the  woman. 


Mr.  Bumble  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  he  were  glad 
to  find  that  the  story  was  over,  and  no  mention 
made  of  taking  the  tive-and-twenty  pounds  back 
again ;  and  now  he  toek  courage  to  wipe  off  the  per 
spiration  which  had  been  trickling  over  his  nose  un 
checked  during  the  whole  of  the  previous  dialogue. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  story  beyond  what  I  can 
guess  at,"  said  his  wife,  addressing  Monks,  after  a 
short  silence,  "  and  I  want  to  know  nothing ;  for  it's 
safer  not.  But  I  may  ask  you  two  questions,  may  I F 

"  You  may  ask,"  said  Monks,  with  some  show  of 
surprise ;  "  but  whether  I  answer  or  not  is  another 
question." 

"  —  Which  makes  three,"  observed  Mr.  Bumble, 
essaying  a  stroke  of  facetiousness. 

"  Is  that  what  you  expected  to  get  from  me  ?"  de 
manded  the  matron. 

"  It  is,"  replied  Monks.     "  The  other  question  ?" 

"  What  you  propose  to  do  with  it  ?  Can  it  be  used 
against  me  ?" 

"  Never,"  rejoined  Monks,  "  nor  against  me  either. 
See  here !  But  don't  move  a  step  forward,  or  your 
life  is  not  worth  a  bulrush." 

With  these  words,  he  suddenly  wheeled  the  table 
aside,  and  pulling  an  iron  ring  in  the  boarding, 
threw  back  a  large  trap-door  which  opened  close  at 
Mr.  Bumble's  feet,  and  caused  that  gentleman  to  re 
tire  several  paces  backward  with  great  precipitation. 

"  Look  down,"  said  Monks,  lowering  the  lantern 
into  the  gulf.     "  Don't  fear  me.     I  could  have  let 
you  down,  quietly  enough,  when  you  were  seated 
|  over  it,  if  that  had  been  my  game." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  matron  drew  near  to  the 
brink ;  and  even  Mr.  Bumble  himself,  impelled  by 
curiosity,  ventured  to  do  the  same.  The  turbid 
water,  swollen  by  the  heavy  rain,  was  rushing  rapid 
ly  on  below ;  and  all  other  sounds  were  lost  iu  the 
noise  of  its  plashing  and  eddying  against  the  green 
and  slimy  piles.  There  had  once  been  a  water-mill 
beneath ;  the  tide,  foaming  and  chafing  round  the 
few  rotten  stakes  and  fragments  of  machinery  that 
yet  remained,  seemed  to  dart  onward,  with  a  new 
impulse,  when  freed  from  the  obstacles  which  had 
unavailingly  attempted  to  stem  its  headlong  course. 

"  If  you  flung  a  man's  body  down  there,  where 
would  it  be  to-morrow  morning  ?"  said  Monks, 
swinging  the  lantern  to  and  fro  in  the  dark  well. 

"  Twelve  miles  down  the  river,  and  cut  to  pieces 
besides,"  replied  Bumble,  recoiling  at  the  thought. 

Monks  drew  the  little  packet  from  his  breast, 
where  he  had  hurriedly  thrust  it,  and  tying  it  to  a 
leaden  weight),  which  had  formed  a  part  of  some 
pulley  and  was  lying  on  the  floor,  dropped  it  into 
the  stream.  It  fell  straight,  and  true  as  a  die,  clove  * 
the  water  with  a  scarcely  audible  splash,  and  was 
gone. 

The  three,  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  seemed 
to  breathe  more  freely. 

"  There !"  said  Monks,  closing  the  trap-door,  which 
fell  heavily  back  into  its  former  position.  "  If  the 
sea  ever  gives  up  its  dead,  as  books  say  it  will,  it 
will  keep  its  gold  and  silver  to  itself,  and  that  trash 
among  it.  We  have  nothing  more  to  say,  and  may 
break  up  our  pleasant  party." 

"  By  all  means,"  observed  Mr.  Bumble,  with  great 
alacrity. 


MR.  SIRES  AND  HIS  NURSE. 


121 


"  You'll  keep  a  quiet  tongue  in  your  head,  will 
you  ?"  said  Monks,  with  a  threatening  look.  I'm  not 
afraid  of  your  wife." 

"  You  may  depend  upon  me,  young  man,"  answered 
Mr.  Bumble,  bowing  himself  gradually  toward  the 
ladder  with  excessive  politeness.  "  On  every  body's 
account,  young  man;  011  my  own,  you  know,  Mr. 
Monks."  ' 

"  I  am  glad,  for  your  sake,  to  hear  it,"  remarked 
Monks.  "  Light  your  lantern,  and  get  away  from 
here  as  fast  as  you  can." 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  conversation  terminated 
at  this  point,  or  Mr.  Bumble,  who  had  bowed  himself 
to  within  six  inches  of  the  ladder,  would  infallibly 
have  pitched  headlong  into  the  room  below.  He 
lighted  his  lantern  from  that  which  Monks  had  de 
tached  from  the  rope  and  now  carried  in  his  hand ; 
and,  making  no  effort  to  prolong  the  discourse,  de 
scended  in  silence,  followed  by  his  wife.  Monks 
brought  up  the  rear,  after  pausing  on  the  steps  to 
satisfy  himself  that  there  were  no  other  sounds  to  be 
heard  than  the  beating  of  the  rain  without,  and  the 
rushing  of  the  water. 

They  traversed  the  lower  room  slowly,  and  with 
caution,  for  Monks  started  at  every  shadow;  and 
Mr.  Bumble,  holding  his  lantern  a  foot  above  the 
ground,  walked  not  only  with  remarkable  care,  but 
with  a  marvelously  light  step  for  a  gentleman  of  his 
h'gure,  looking  nervously  about  him  fbr  hidden  trap 
doors.  The  gate  at  which  they  had  entered  was 
softly  unfastened  and  opened  by  Monks ;  merely  ex 
changing  a  nod  with  their  mysterious  acquaintance, 
the  married  couple  emerged  into  the  wet  and  dark 
ness  outside. 

They  were  no  sooner  gone  than  Monks,  who  ap 
peared  to  entertain  an  invincible  repugnance  to  be 
ing  left  alone,  called  to  a  boy  who  had  been  hidden 
somewhere  below.  Bidding  him  go  first  and  bear 
the  light,  he  rerarued  to  the  chamber  he  had  just 
quitted. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

INTRODUCES  SOME  RESPECTABLE  CHARACTERS  WITH 
WHOM  THE  READER  IS  ALREADY  ACQUAINTED,  AND 
SHOWS  HOW  MONKS  AND  THE  JEW  LAID  THEIR 
WORTHY  HEADS  TOGETHER. 

ON  the  evening  following  that  upon  which  the 
three  worthies  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter 
disposed  of  their  little  matter  of  business  as  therein 
narrated,  Mr.  William  Sikes,  awakening  from  a  nap, 
drowsily  growled  forth  an  inquiry  what  time  of 
night  it  was. 

The  room  in  which  Mr.  Sikes  propounded  this 
question  was  not  one  of  those  he  had  tenanted  pre 
vious  to  the  Chertsey  expedition,  although  it  was  in 
the  same  quarter  of  the  town,  and  was  situated  at 
no  great  distance  from  his  former  lodgings.  It  was 
not,  in  appearance,  so  desirable  a  habitation  as  his 
old  quarters,  being  a  mean  and  badly -furnished 
apartment,  of  very  limited  size,  lighted  only  by  one 
small  window  in  the  shelving  roof,  and  abutting  on 
a  close  and  dirty  lane.  Nor  were  there  wanting  oth 
er  indications  of  the  good  gentleman's  having  gone 
down  in  the  world  of  late ;  for  a  great  scarcity  of 


furniture,  and  total  absence  of  comfort,  together 
with  the  disappearance  of  all  such  small  movables 
as  spare  clothes  and  linen,  bespoke  a  state  of  ex 
treme  poverty,  while  the  meagre  and  attenuated 
condition  of  Mr.  Sikss  himself  would  have  fully  con 
firmed  these  symptoms,  if  they  had  stood  in  any  need 
of  corroboration. 

The  house-breaker  was  lying  on  the  bed,  wrapped 
in  his  white  great-coat,  by  way  of  dressing-gown,  and 
displaying  a  set  of  features  in  no  degree  improved 
by  the  cadaverous  hue  of  illness,  and  the  addition 
of  a  soiled  night-cap,  and  a  stiff  black  beard  of  a 
week's  growth.  The  dog  sat  at  the  bedside,  now 
eying  his  master  with  a  wistful  look,  and  now  prick 
ing  his  ears  and  uttering  a  low  growl  as  some  noise 
in  the  street,  or  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  at 
tracted  his  attention.  Seated  by  the  window,  busi 
ly  engaged  in  patching  an  old  waistcoat  which  form 
ed  a  portion  of  the  robber's  ordinary  dress,  was  a  fe 
male,  so  pale  and  reduced  with  watching  and  pri 
vation,  that  there  would  have  been  considerable  dif 
ficulty  in  recognizing  her  as  the  same  Nancy  who 
has  already  figured  in  this  tale,  but  for  the  voice  in 
which  she  replied  to  Mr.  Sikes's  question. 

"  Not  long  gone  seven,"  said  the  girl.  "  How  do 
you  feel  to-night,  Bill  ?" 

"As  weak  as  water,"  replied  Mr.  Sikes,  with  an 
imprecation  on  his  eyes  and  limbs.  "Here,  lend  us 
a  hand,  and  let  me  get  off  this  thundering  bed,  any 
how." 

Illness  had  not  improved  Mr.  Sikes's  temper ;  for, 
as  the  girl  raised  him  up  and  led  him  to  a  chair,  he 
muttered  various  curses  on  her  awkwardness,  and 
struck  her. 

"  Whining,  are  you?"  said  Sikes.  "Come?  don't 
stand  sniveling  there.  If  you  can't  do  any  thing 
better  than  that,  cut  off  altogether.  D'ye  hear  me  ?" 

"I  hear  you,"  replied  the  girl,  turning  her  face- 
aside,  and  forcing  a  laugh.  "  What  fancy  have  you 
got  in  your  head  now  ?" 

"  Oh !  you've  thought  better  of  it,  have  you  ?" 
growled  Sikes,  marking  the  tear  which  trembled  in 
her  eye.  "All  the  better  for  you,  you  have." 

"  WTiy,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you'd  be  hard  upon 
me  to-night,  Bill,"  said  the  girl,  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  No !"  cried  Mr.  Sikes.     "  Why  not  ?" 

"  Such  a  number  of  nights,"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
touch  of  woman's  tenderness  which  communicated 
something  like  sweetness  of  tone  even  to  her  voice, 
"  such  a  number  of  nights  as  I've  been  patient  with 
you,  nursing  and  caring  for  you,  as  if  you'd  boon  a 
child ;  and  this  the  first  that  I've  seen  you  like 
yourself — you  wouldn't  have  served  me  as  you  did 
just  now,  if  you'd  thought  of  that,  would  you? 
Come,  come ;  say  you  wouldn't." 

"  Well,  then,"  rejoined  Mr.  Sikes,  "  I  wouldn't. 
Why,  damme,  now  the  girl's  whining  again !" 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  the  girl,  throwing  herself  into 
a  chair.  "  Don't  you  seem  to  mind  me.  It'll  soon 
be  over." 

"  What'll  be  over  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Sikes,  in  a  sav 
age  votee.  "  What  foolery  are  you  up  to  now  again  ? 
Get  up  and  bustle  about,  and  don't  come  over  me 
with  your  woman's  nonsense." 

At  any  other  time  this  remonstrance,  and  the  tone 


122 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


in  which  it  was  delivered,  would  have  had  the  de 
sired  effect ;  but  the  girl  being  really  weak  and  ex 
hausted,  dropped  her  head  over  the  back  of  the 
chair  and  fainted,  before  Mr.  Sikes  could  get  out  a 
few  of  the  appropriate  oaths  with  which,  oil  similar 
occasions,  he  was  accustomed  to  garnish  his  threats. 
Not  knowing  very  well  what  to  do,  in  this  uncom 
mon  emergency — for  Miss  Nancy's  hysterics  were 
usually  of  that  violent  kind  which  the  patient  fights 
and  struggles  out  of  without  much  assistance — Mr. 
Sikes  tried  a  little  blasphemy;  and  finding  that 
mode  of  treatment  wholly  ineffectual,  called  for  as 
sistance. 

"  What's  the  matter  here,  my  dear  ?"  said  Fagin, 
looking  in. 

"  Lend  a  hand  to  the  girl,  can't  you  ?"  replied 
Sikes,  impatiently.  "  Don't  stand  chattering  and 
grinning  at  me !" 

With  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  Fagin  hastened 
to  the  girl's  assistance,  while  Mr.  John  Dawkins  (oth 
erwise  the  Artful  Dodger),  who  had  followed  his 
venerable  friend  into  the  room,  hastily  deposited  on 
the  floor  a  bundle  with  which  he  was  laden ;  and, 
snatching  a  bottle  from  the  grasp  of  Master  Charles 
Bates,  who  came  close  at  his  heels,  uncorked  it  in  a 
twinkling  with  his  teeth,  and  poured  a  portion  of 
its  contents  down  the  patient's  throat,  previously 
•taking  a  taste  himself,  to  prevent  mistakes. 

"  Give  her  a  whiff  of  fresh  air  with  the  bellows, 
Charley,"  said  Mr.  Dawkins,  "and  you  slap  her 
hands,  Fagin,  while  Bill  undoes  the  petticuts." 

These  united  restoratives,  administered  with  great 
energy  —  especially  that  department  consigned  to 
Master  Bates,  who  appeared  to  consider  his  share  in 
the  proceedings  a  piece  of  unexampled  pleasantry — - 
were  not  long  in  producing  the  desired  effect.  The 
girl  gradually  recovered  her  senses;  and,  staggering 
to  a  chair  by  the  bedside,  hid  her  face  upon  the  pil 
low,  leaving  Mr.  Sikes  to  confront  the  new-comers  in 
some  astonishment  at  their  unlooked-for  appearance. 

"  Why,  what  evil  wind  has  blowed  you  here  ?"  he 
asked  Fagin. 

"  No  evil  wind  at  all,  my  dear,  for  evil  winds  blow 
nobody  any  good ;  and  I've  brought  something  good 
with  me,  that  you'll  be  glad  to  see.  Dodger,  my 
dear,  open  the  bundle,  and  give  Bill  the  little  trifles 
that  we  spent  all  our  money  on  this  morning." 

In  compliance  with  Mr.  Fagin's  request,  the  Artful 
untied  his  bundle,  which  was  of  large  size  and  form 
ed  of  an  old  table-cloth,  and  handed  the  articles  it 
contained,  one  by  one,  to  Charley  Bates,  who  placed 
them  on  the  table,  with  various  encomiums  on  their 
rarity  and  excellence. 

"  Sitch  a  rabbit-pie,  Bill !"  exclaimed  that  young 
gentleman,  disclosing  to  view  a  huge  pasty ;  "  sitch 
delicate  creeturs,  with  sitch  tender  limbs,  Bill,  that 
the  wery  bones  melt  in  your  mouth  and  there's  no 
occasion  to  pick  'em ;  half  a  pound  of  seven-and-six- 
penuy  green,  so  precious  strong  that  if  you  mix  it 
with  boiling  water,  it'll  go  nigh  to  blow  the  lid  of 
the  tea-pot  off;  a  pound  and  a  half  of  moist  sugar 
that  the  niggers  didn't  work  at  all  at,  afore  they  got 
it  up  to  sitch  a  pitch  of  goodness — oh  no !  Tfc'o  half- 
quartern  brans ;  pound  of  best  fresh ;  piece  of  double 
Glo'ster ;  and,  to  wind  up  all,  some  of  the  richest  sort 
you  ever  lushed !" 


Uttering  this  last  panegyric,  Master  Bates  pro 
duced  from  one  of  his  extensive  pockets  a  full-sized 
wine-bottle,  carefully  corked,  Avhile  Mr.  Dawkins,  at 
the  same  instant,  poured  out  a  wine-glassful  of  raw 
spirits  from  the  bottle  he  carried,  which  the  invalid 
tossed  down  his  throat  without  a  moment's  hesita 
tion. 

"Ah!"  said  Fagin,  rubbing  his  hands  with  great 
satisfaction.  "  You'll  do,  Bill ;  you'll  do  now." 

"  Do !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sikes ;  "  I  might  have  been 
done  for  twenty  times  over  afore  you'd  have  done 
any  thing  to  help  me.  What  do  you  mean  by  leav 
ing  a  man  in  this  state  three  weeks  and  more,  you 
false-hearted  wagabond  ?" 

"  Only  hear  him,  boys !"  said  Fagin,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "And  us  come  to  bring  him  all  these 
beau-ti-ful  things." 

"The  things  is  well  enough  in  their  way,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Sikes,  a  little  soothed,  as  he  glanced  over 
the  table ;  "  but  what  have  you  got  to  say  for  your 
self,  why  you  should  leave  me  here  down  in  the 
mouth,  health,  blunt,  and  every  thing  else,  and  take 
no  more  notice  of  me  all  this  mortal  time  than  if  I 
was  that  'ere  dog  ? — Drive  him  down,  Charley !" 

"  I  never  see  such  a  jolly  dog  as  that !"  cried  Mas 
ter  Bates,  doing  as  he  was  desired.  "  Smelling  the 
grub  like  a  old  lady  a-going  to  market !  He'd  make 
his  fortun  on  the  stage,  that  dog  would,  and  rewive 
the  drayma  besides." 

"  Hold  your  din !"  cried  Sikes,  as  the  dog  retreated 
under  the  bed,  still  growling  angrily.  "  What  have 
you  got  to  say  for  yourself,  you  withered  old  fence, 
eh?" 

"I  was  away  from  London  a  week  and  more,  my 
dear,  on  a  plant,"  replied  the  Jew. 

"And  what  about  the  other  fortnight  ?"  demanded 
Sikes.  "  What  about  the  other  fortnight  that  you've 
left  me  lying  here,  like  a  sick  rat  in  his  hole  ?" 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Bill.  I  can*t  go  into  a  long 
explanation  before  company ;  but  I  couldn't  help  it, 
upon  my  honor." 

"  Upon  your  what?"  growled  Sikes, with  excessive 
disgust.  "  Here !  Cut  me  off  a  piece  of  that  pie, 
one  of  you  boys,  to  take  the  taste  of  that  out  of  my 
mouth,  or  it'll  choke  me  dead." 

"  Don't  be  out  of  temper,  my  dear,"  urged  Fagin, 
submissively.  "  I  have  never  forgot  you,  Bill,  never 
once." 

"No !  I'll  pound  it  that  you  han't,"  replied  Sikes, 
with  a  bitter  grin.  "You've  been  scheming  and 
plotting  away  every  hour  that  I  have  laid  shivering 
and  burning  here ;  and  Bill  was  to  do  this,  and  Bill 
was  to  do  that,  and  Bill  was  to  do  it, all,  dirt  cheap, 
as  soon  as  he  got  well,  and  was  quite  poor  enough 
for  your  work.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  girl,  I  might 
have  died." 

"There  now,  Bill,"  remonstrated  Fagin,  eagerly 
catching  at  the  word.  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
girl !  Who  but  poor  ould  Fagin  was  the  means  of 
your  halving  such  a  handy  girl  about  you  ?" 

"  He  says  true  enough  there,"  said  Nancy,  coming 
hastily  forward.  "  Let  him  be ;  let  him  be." 

Nancy's  appearance  gave  a  new  turn  to  the  con 
versation  ;  for  the  boys,  receiving  a  sly  wink  from 
the  wary  old  Jew,  began  to  ply  her  with  liquor,  of 
which,  however,  she  took  very  sparingly  ;  while  Fa- 


MR.  CHITLING'S  OPINION  OF  MR.  CRACKIT. 


123 


gin,  assuming  an  unusual  flow  of  spirits,  gradually 
brought  Mr.  Sikes  into  a  better  temper,  by  affecting 
to  regasd  his  threats  as  a  little  pleasant  banter,  and, 
moreover,  by  laughing  very  heartily  at  one  or  two 
rough  jokes,  which,  after  repeated  applications  to 
the  spirit-bottle,  he  condescended  to  make. 

"  It's  all  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Sikes ;  "  but  I  must 
have  some  blunt  from  you  to-night." 

"  I  haven't  a  piece  of  coin  about  me,"  replied  the 
Jew. 

"Then  you've  got  lots  at  home,"  retorted  Sikes; 
"  and  I  must  have  some  from  there." 

"  Lots !"  cried  Fagin,  holding  up  his  hands.  "  I 
haven't  so  much  as  would — " 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  you've  got,  and  I  dare 
say  you  hardly  know  yourself,  as  it  would  take  a 
pretty  long  time  to  count  it,"  said  Sikes,  "but  I 
must  have  some  to-night ;  and  that's  flat." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Fagin,  with  a  sigh,  "I'll  send 
the  Artful  round  presently." 

"  You  won't  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Sikes.  "  The  Artful's  a  deal  too  artful,  and  would 
forget  to  come,  or  lose  his  way,  or  get  dodged  by 
traps,  and  so  be  perwented,  or  any  thing  for  an  ex 
cuse,  if  you  put  him  up  to  it.  Nancy  shall  go  to  the 
ken  and  fetch  it,  to  make  all  sure ;  and  I'll  lie  down 
and  have  a  snooze  while  she's  gone." 

After  a  great  deal  of  haggling  and  squabbling,  Fa- 
gin  beat  down  the  amount  of  the  required  advance 
from  five  pounds  to  three  pounds  four-and-sixpence, 
protesting,  with  many  solemn  asseverations,  that  that 
would  only  leave  him  eighteen-peuce  to  keep  house 
with ;  Mr.  Sikes  sullenly  remarking  that  if  he  couldn't 
get  any  more  he  must  be  content  with  that,  Nancy 
prepared  to  accompany  him  home,  while  the  Dodger 
and  Master  Bates  put  the  eatables  in  the  cupboard. 
The  Jew  then,  taking  leave  of  his  affectionate  friend, 
returned  homeward,  attended  by  Nancy  and  the  boys : 
Mr.  Sikes,  meanwhile,  flinging  himself  on  the  bed, 
and  composing  himself  to  sleep  away  the  time  until 
the  young  lady's  return. 

In  due  course  they  arrived  at  Fagin's  abode,  where 
they  found  Toby  Crackit  and  Mr.  Chitling  intent 
upon  their  fifteenth  game  at  cribbage,  which  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say  the  latter  gentleman  lost, 
and  with  it,  his  fifteenth  and  last  sixpence,  much  to 
the  amusement  of  his  young  friends.  Mr.  Crackit, 
apparently  somewhat  ashamed  at  being  found  relax 
ing  himself  with  a  gentleman  so  much  his  inferior  in 
station  and  mental  endowments,  yawned,  and  inquir 
ing  after  Sikes,  took  up  his  hat  to  go. 

"  Has  nobody  been,  Toby  ?"  asked  Fagin. 

"  Not  a  living  leg,"  answered  Mr.  Crackit,  pulling 
up  his  collar ;  "  it's  been  as  dull  as  swipes.  You 
ought  to  stand  something  handsome,  Fagin,  to  rec 
ompense  me  for  keeping  house  so  long.  Damme,  I'm 
as  flat  as  a  juryman  ;  and  should  have  gone  to  sleep 
as  fast  as  Newgate,  if  I  hadn't  had  the  good  natur' 
to  amuse  this  youngster.  Horrid  dull,  I'm  blessed 
if  I  ain't!" 

With  these  and  other  ejaculations  of  the  same 
kind,  Mr.  Toby  Crackit  swept  up  his  winnings,  and 
crammed  them  into  his  waistcoat  .-pocket  with  a 
haughty  air,  as  though  such  small  pieces  of  silver 
were  wholly  beneath  the  consideration  of  a  man  of 
his  figure ;  this  done,  he  swaggered  out  of  the  room 


with  so  much  elegance  and  gentility,  that  Mr.  Chit- 
ling,  bestowing  numerous  admiring  glances  on  his 
legs  and  boots  till  they  were  out  of  sight,  assured 
the  company  that  he  considered  his  acquaintance 
cheap  at  fifteen  sixpences  an  interview,  and  that  he 
didn't  value  his  losses  the  snap  of  his  little  finger. 

"Wot  a  rum  chap  you  are,  Tom!"  said  Master 
Bates,  highly  amused  by  this  declaration. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Chitling.  "Am  I, 
Fagin?" 

"A  very  clever  fellow,  my  dear,"  said  Fagiu,  pat 
ting  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  winking  to  his  other 
pupils. 

"And  Mr.  Crackit  is  a  heavy  swell;  ain't  he,  Fa- 
gin  ?"  asked  Tom. 

"  No  doubt  at  all  of  that,  my  dear." 

"And  it  i«  a  creditable  thing  to  have  his  acquaint 
ance  ;  ain't  it,  Fagin  ?"  pursued  Tom. 

"Very  much  so,  indeed,  my  dear.  They're  only 
jealous,  Tom,  because  he  won't  give  it  to  them." 

"Ah!"  cried  Tom,  triumphantly,  "that's  where  it 
is !  He  has  cleaned  me  out.  But  I  can  go  and  earn 
some  more  when  I  like ;  can't  I,  Fagin  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  you  can,  and  the  sooner  you  go  the 
better,  Tom;  so  make  up  your  loss  at  once,  and 
don't  lose  any  more  time.  Dodger!  Charley!  It's 
time  you  were  on  the  lay.  Come!  It's  near  ten, 
and  nothing  done  yet." 

In  obedience  to  this  hint,  the  boys,  nodding  to 
Nancy,  took  up  their  hats  and  left  the  room ;  the 
Dodger  and  his  vivacious  friend  indulging,  as  they 
went,  in  many  witticisms  at  the  expense  of  Mr.  Chit- 
ling  ;  in  whose  conduct,  it  is  but  justice  to  say,  there 
was  nothing  very  conspicuous  or  peculiar,  inasmuch 
as  there  are  a  great  number  of  spirited  young  bloods 
upon  town  who  pay  a  much  higher  price  than  Mr. 
Chitling  for  being  seen  in  good  society,  and  a  great 
number  of  fine  gentlemen  (composing  the  good  so 
ciety  aforesaid)  who  establish  their  reputation  upon 
very  much  the  same  footing  as  flash  Toby  Crackit. 

"  Now,"  said  Fagin,  when  they  had  left  the  room, 
"  I'll  go  and  get  you  that  cash,  Nancy.  This  is  only 
the  key  of  a  little  cupboard  where  I  keep  a  few  odd 
things  the  boys  get,  my  dear.  I  never  lock  up  my 
money,  for  I've  got  none  to  lock  up,  my  dear — ha ! 
ha !  ha ! — none  to  lock  up.  It's  a  poor  trade,  Nancy, 
and  no  thanks;  but  I'm  fond  of  seeing  the  young 
people  about  me,  and  I  bear  it  all,  I  bear  it  all. 
Hush!"  he  said,  hastily  concealing  the  key  in  his 
breast;  "who's  that?  Listen!" 

The  girl,  who  was  sitting  at  the  table  with  her 
arms  folded,  appeared  in  no  way  interested  in  the 
arrival,  or  to  care  whether  the  person,  whoever  he 
'was,  came  or  went,  until  the  murmur  of  a  man's 
voice  reached  her  ears.  The  instant  she  caught  the 
sound,  she  tore  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  and  thrust  them  under  the  ta 
ble.  The  Jew,  turning  round  immediately  after 
ward,  she  muttered  a  complaint  of  the  heat  in  a  tone 
of  languor  that  contrasted  very  remarkably  with  the 
extreme  haste  and  violence  of  this  action,  which, 
however,  had  been  unobserved  by  Fagin,  who  had 
his  back  toward  her  at  the  time. 

"Bah!"  he  whispered,  as  though  nettled  by  the 
interruption ;  "  it's  the  man  I  expected  before ;  he's 
coming  down  stairs.  Not  a  word  about  the  money 


124 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


while  he's  here,  Nance.     He  won't  stop  long.     Not 
ten  minutes,  my  clear." 

Laying  his  skinny  forefinger  upon  his  lip,  the  Jew 
(iu-iied  a  candle  to  the  door,  as  a  man's  step  was 
heard  upon  the  stairs  without.  He  reached  it  at 
the  same  moment  as  the  visitor,  who,  coming  hastily 
into  the  room,  was  close  upon  the  girl  before  he  ob 
served  her. 

It  was  Monks. 

"  Only  one  of  my  young  people,"  said  Fagin,  ob- ' 
serving  that  Monks  drew  back  on  beholding  a  stran 
ger.     "  Don't  move,  Nancy." 

The  girl  drew  closer  to  the  table,  and  glancing  at 
Monks  with  an  air  of  careless  levity,  withdrew  her 
eyes ;  but  as  he  turned  his  toward  Fagin,  she  stole 
another  look,  so  keen  and  searching,  and  full  of  pur 
pose,  that  if  there  had  been  any  by-stander  to  ob 
serve  the  change,  he  could  hardly  have  believed  the 
two  looks  to  have  proceeded  from  the  same  person. 

"  Any  news  ?"  inquired  Fagiu. 

"Great." 

"And — and — good?"  asked  Fagin,  hesitating  as 
though  he  feared  to  vex  the  other  man  by  being  too 
sanguine. 

"  Not  bad,  any  way,"  replied  Monks,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  have  been  prompt  enough  this  time.  Let  me 
have  a  word  with  you." . 

The  girl  drew  closer  to  the  table,  and  made  no  of 
fer  to  leave  the  room,  although  she  could  see  that 
Monks  was  pointing  to  her.  The  Jew,  perhaps  fear 
ing  she  might  say  something  aloud  about  the  mon 
ey  if  he  endeavored  to  get  rid  of  her,  pointed  up 
ward,  and  took  Monks  out  of  the  room. 

"  Not  that  infernal  hole  we  were  in  before,"  she 
could  hear  the  man  say  as  they  went  up  stairs.  Fa- 
gin  laughed ;  and  making  some  reply  which  did  not 
reach  her,  seemed,  by  the  creaking  of  the  boards,  to 
lead  his  companion  to  the  second  story. 

Before  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  had  ceased  to 
echo  through  the  house,  the  girl  had  slipped  off  her 
shoes ;  and  drawing  her  gown  loosely  over  her  head, 
and  muffling  her  arms  in  it,  stood  at  the  door,  listen 
ing  with  breathless  interest.  The  moment  the  noise 
ceased,  she  glided  from  the  room,  ascended  the  stairs 
with  incredible  softness  and  silence,  and  was  lost  in 
the  gloom  above. 

The  room  remained  deserted  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  more;  the  girl  glided  back  with  the  same 
unearthly  tread;  and,  immediately  afterward,  the 
two  men  were  heard  descending.  Monks  went  at 
once  into  the  street,  and  the  Jew  crawled  up  stairs 
again  for  the  money.  When  he  returned,  the  girl 
was  adj  listing  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  as  if  preparing 
to  be  gone. 

"  Why,  Nance,"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  starting  back 
as  he  put  down  the  candle,  "  how  pale  you  are !" 

"  Pale !"  echoed  the  girl,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hands,  as  if  to  look  steadily  at  him. 

"Quite  horrible!  What  have  you  been  doing  to 
yourself?" 

'•  Nothing  that  I  know  of,  except  sitting  in  this 
close  place  for  I  don't  know  how  long  and  all,"  re 
plied  the  girl,  carelessly.  "  Come !  Let  me  get  back ; 
that's  a  dear." 

With  a  sigh  for  every  piece  of  money,  Fagin  told 
the  amount  into  her  hand.  They  parted  without 


more  conversation,  merely  interchanging  a  "•good 
night," 

When  the  girl  got  into  the  open  street,  she  sat 
down  upon  a  door -step,  and  seemed  for  a  few  mo- 
incuts  wholly  bewildered,  and  unable  to  pursue  her 
way.  Suddenly  she  arose  ;  and  hurrying  on  in  a 
direction  quite  opposite  to  that  in  which  Sikes  was 
awaiting  her  return,  quickened  her  pace,  until  it 
gradually  resolved  into  a  violent  run.  After  com 
pletely  exhausting  herself,  she  stopped  to  take 
breath  ;  and,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  herself,  and 
deploring  her  inability  to  do  something  she  was  bent 
upon,  wrung  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

It  might  be  that  her  tears  relieved  her,  or  that  she 
felt  the  full  hopelessness  of  her  condition ;  but  she 
turned  back,  and  hurrying  with  nearly  as  great  ra 
pidity  in  the  contrary  direction,  partly  to  recover 
lost  time,  and  partly  to  keep  pace  with  the  violent 
current  of  her  own  thoughts,  soon  reached  the  dwell 
ing  where  she  had  left  the  house-breaker. 

If  she  betrayed  any  agitation  when  she  presented 
herself  to  Mr.  Sikes,  he  did  not  observe  it ;  for  mere 
ly  inquiring  if  she  had  brought  the  money,  and  re 
ceiving  a  reply  in  the  affirmative,  he  uttered  a  growl 
of  satisfaction,  and  replacing  his  head  upon  the  pil 
low,  resumed  the  slumbers  which  her  arrival  had  in 
terrupted. 

It  was  fortunate  for  her  that  the  possession  of 
money  occasioned  him  so  much  employment  next 
day  in  the  way  of  eating  and  drinking,  and  withal 
had  so  beneficial  an  effect  in  smoothing  down  the  as 
perities  of  his  temper,  that  he  had  neither  time  nor 
inclination  to  be  very  critical  upon  her  behavior  and 
deportment.  That  she  had  all  the  abstracted  and 
nervous  manner  of  one  who  is  on  the  eve  of  some 
bold  and  hazardous  step  which  it  has  required  no 
common  struggle  to  resolve  upon,  would  have  been 
obvious  to  the  lynx-eyed  Fagin,  who  would  most 
probably  have  taken  the  alarm  at  once ;  but  Mr. 
Sikes  lacking  the  niceties  of  discrimination,  and  be 
ing  troubled  with  no  more  subtle  misgivings  than 
those  wliich  resolve  themselves  into  a  dogged  rough 
ness  of  behavior  toward  every  body ;  and  being,  fur 
thermore,  in  an  unusually  amiable  condition,  as  has 
been  already  observed,  saw  nothing  unusual  in  her 
demeanor,  and,  indeed,  troubled  himself  so  little 
about  her,  that,  had  her  agitation  been  far  more  per 
ceptible  than  it  was,  it  Avould  have  been  very  un 
likely  to  have  awakened  his  suspicions. 

As  that  day  closed  in,  the  girl's  excitement  in 
creased  ;  and,  when  night  came  on,  and  she  sat  by, 
watching  until  the  house-breaker  should  drink  him 
self  asleep,  there  was  an  unusual  paleness  in  her 
cheek,  and  a  fire  iu  her  eye,  that  even  Sikes  observed 
with  astonishment. 

Mr.  Sikes  being  weak  from  the  fever,  was  lying  in 
bed,  taking  hot  water  with  his  gin  to  render  it  less 
inflammatory,  and  had  pushed  his  glass  toward  Nan 
cy  to  be  replenished  for  the  third  or  fourth  time, 
when  these  symptoms  first  struck  him. 

"  Why,  burn  my  body!"  said  the  man,  raising  him 
self  on  his  hands  as  he  stared  the  girl  in  the  face. 
"  You  look  like  a  corpse  come  to  life  again.  What'.s 
the  matter  ?" 

"  Matter !"  replied  the  girl.  "  Nothing.  What  do 
vou  look  at  me  so  hard  for  ?" 


A   COMPOSING  DRAUGHT. 


125 


"  What  foolery  is  this  ?"  demanded  Sikes,  grasping 
her  by  the  arm  aiid  shaking  her  roughly.  "  What  is 
it  ?  What  do  you  mean  f  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?" 

"  Of  many  things,  Bill,"  replied  the  girl,  shivering, 
and,  as  she  did  so,  pressing  her  hands  upon  her  eyes. 
"  But,  Lord !  What  odds  in  that  ?'' 

The  tone  of  forced  gayety  in  which  the  last  words 
were  spoken  seemed  to  produce  a  deeper  impression 
on  Sikes  than  the  wild  and  rigid  look  which  had 
preceded  them. 

"  I  tell  you  wot  it  is,"  said  Sikes ;  "  if  you  haven't 
caught  the  fever,  and  got  it  comiu'  on  now,  there's 
something  more  than  usual  in  the  wind,  and  some- 


"  Now,"  said  the  robber,  "  come  and  sit  aside 
of  me,  and  put  on  your  own  face,  or  I'll  alter  it 
so  that  you  won't  know  it  again  when  you  do  want 
it." 

The  girl  obeyed.  Sikes,  locking  her  hand  in  his, 
fell  back  upon  the  pillow,  turning  his  eyes  upon  her 
face.  They  closed,  opened  again,  closed  once  more, 
again  opened.  He  shifted  his  position  restlessly,  and 
after  dozing  again  and  again  for  two  or  three  min 
utes,  and  as  often  springing  up  with  a  look  of  terror 
and  gazing  vacantly  about  him,  was  suddenly  strick 
en,  as  it  were,  while  in  the  very  attitude  of  rising, 
into  a  deep  and  heavy  sleep.  The  grasp  of  his  hand 


"THEN,  STOOPING  SOFTLY  OVEB  TUB  BED,  SHE  KISSKD  TIII 


thing  dangerous  too.  You're  not  a-going  to —  No, 
damme !  you  wouldn't  do  that !" 

"  Do  what  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  There  ain't,"  said  Sikes,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her, 
and  muttering  the  words  to  himself;  "there  ain't 
a  stauncher-hearted  gal  going,  or  I'd  have  cut  her 
throat  three  months  ago.  She's  got  the  fever  com 
ing  on ;  that's  it." 

Fortifying  himself  with  this  assurance,  Sikes 
drained  the  glass  to  the  bottom,  and  then,  with 
many  grumbling  oaths,  called  for  his  physic.  The 
girl  jumped  up  with  great  alacrity,  poured  it  quick 
ly  out,  but  with  her  back  toward  him,  and  held  the 
vessel  to  his  lips,  while  he  drank  off  the  contents. 


relaxed,  the  upraised  arm  fell  languidly  by  his  side, 
and  he  lay  like  one  in  a  profound  trance. 

"  The  laudanum  has  taken  effect  at  last,"  murmur 
ed  the  girl,  as  she  rose  from  the  bedside.  "  I  may  he 
too  late,  even  now." 

She  hastily  dressed  herself  in  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  looking  fearfully  round  from  time  to  time,  as 
if,  despite  the  sleeping  draught,  she  expected  every 
moment  to  feel  the  pressure  of  Sikes's  heavy  haud 
upon  her  shoulder;  then,  stooping  softly  over  the 
bed,  she  kissed  the  robber's  lips,  and  then  opening 
and  closing  the  room-door  with  noiseless  touch,  hur 
ried  from  the  house. 

A  watchman  was  crying  half-past  nine,  down  a 


126 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


dark  passage  through  Avhich  she  had  to  pass  in  gaiii- 
iiig  the  main  thoroughfare. 

"  Has  it  long  gone  the  half  hour  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  It'll  strike  the  hour  in  another  quarter,"  said  the 
man,  raising  his  lantern  to  her  face. 

"And  I  can  not  get  there  in  less  than  an  hour  or 
more,"  muttered  Nancy,  brushing  swiftly  past  him, 
and  gliding  rapidly  down  the  street. 

Many  of  the  shops  were  already  closing  in  the 
back  lanes  and  avenues  through  which  she  tracked 
her  way  in  making  from  Spitalfields  toward  the  West- 
End  of  London.  The  clock  struck  ten,  increasing 
her  impatience.  She  tore  along  the  narrow  pave 
ment,  elbowing  the  passengers  from  side  to  side, 
and  darting  almost  under  the  horses'  heads ;  crossed 
crowded  streets,  where  clusters  of  persons  were  ea 
gerly  watching  their  opportunity  to  do  the  like. 

"  The  woman  is  mad !"  said  the  people,  turning  to 
look  after  her  as  she  rushed  away. 

When  she  reached  the  more  wealthy  quarter  of 
the  town,  the  streets  were  comparatively  deserted ; 
and  here  her  headlong  progress  excited  a  still  great 
er  curiosity  in  the  stragglers  whom  she  hurried  past. ' 
Some  quickened  their  pace  behind,  as  though  to  see 
wrhither  she  was  hastening  at  such  an  unusual  rate, 
and  a  few  made  head  upon  her,  and  looked  back, 
surprised  at  her  undimiuished  speed ;  but  they  fell 
off  one  by  one,  and  when  she  neared  her  place  of  des 
tination  she  was  alone. 

It  was  a  family  hotel  in  a  quiet  but  handsome 
street  near  Hyde  Park.  As  the  brilliant  light  of  the 
lamp  which  burned  before  its  door  guided  her  to  the 
spot,  the  clock  struck  eleven.  She  had  loitered  for 
a  few  paces  as  though  irresolute,  and  making  up  her 
mind  to  advance,  but  the  sound  determined  her,  and 
she  stepped  into  the  hall.  The  porter's  seat  was  va 
cant.  She  looked  round  with  an  air  of  incertitude, 
and  advanced  toward  the  stairs. 

"  Now,  young  woman  !"  said  a  smartly-dressed  fe 
male,  looking  out  from  a  door  behind  her,  "  who  do 
you  want  here  ?" 

"  A  lady  who  is  stopping  in  this  house,"  answered 
the  girl. 

"A  lady!"  was  the  reply,  accompanied  with  a 
scornful  look.  "  What  lady  f ' 

"  Miss  Maylie,"  said  Nancy. 

The  young  woman,  who  had  by  this  time  noted 
her  appearance,  replied  only  by  a  look  of  virtuous 
disdain,  and  summoned  a  man  to  answer  her.  To 
him  Nancy  repeated  her  request. 

"  WThat  name  am  I  to  say  ?"  asked  the  waiter. 

"  It's  of  no  use  saying  any,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  Nor  business  ?"  said  the  man. 

"  No,  nor  that  neither,"  rejoined  the  girl.  "  I  must 
see  the  lady." 

"  Come !"  said  the  man,  pushing  her  toward  the 
door.  "  None  of  this.  Take  yourself  off." 

"  I  shall  be  carried  out,  if  I  go !"  said  the  girl,  vio 
lently  ;  "  and  I  can  make  that  a  job  that  two  of  you 
won't  like  to  do.  Isn't  there  any  body  here,"  she 
said,  looking  round,  "  that  will  see  a  simple  message 
carried  for  a  poor  wretch  like  me  ?" 

This  appeal  produced  an  effect  on  a  good-tempered- 
faced  man-cook,  who  with  some  other  of  the  servants 
was  looking  on,  and  who  stepped  forward  to  interfere. 

"  Take  it  up  for  her,  Joe,  can't  you  ?"  said  this  person. 


"  What's  the  good  f '  replied  the  man.  "  You  don't 
suppose  the  young  lady  will  see  such  as  her,  do  you  ?" 

This  allusion  to  Nancy's  doubtful  character  raised 
a  vast  quantity  of  chaste  wrath  iu  the  bosoms  of  four 
house-maids,  who  remarked  with  great  fervor  that 
the  creature  was  a  disgrace  to  her  sex,  and  strong 
ly  advocated  her  being  thrown  ruthlessly  into  the 
kennel. 

"  Do  what  you  like  with  me,"  said  the  girl,  turn 
ing  to  the  men  again ;  "  but  do  what  I  ask  you  first, 
and  I  ask  you  to  give  this  message  for  God  Almighty's 
sake." 

The  soft-hearted  cook  added  his  intercession,  and 
the  result  was  that  the  man  who  had  first  appeared 
undertook  its  delivery. 

"  What's  it  to  bef  said  the  man,  with  one  foot  on 
the  stairs. 

"  That  a  young  woman  earnestly  asks  to  speak  to 
Miss  Maylie  alone,"  said  Nancy;  "and  that  if  the 
lady  will  only  hear  the  first  word  she  has  to  say,  she 
will  know  whether  to  hear  her  business,  or  to  have 
her  turned  out-of-doors  as  an  impostor." 

"  I  say,"  said  the  man,  "  you're  coming  it  strong." 

"  You  give  the  message,"  said  the  girl,  firmly,  "  and 
let  me  hear  the  answer." 

The  man  ran  up  stairs.  Nancy  remained,  pale  and 
almost  breathless,  listening  with  quivering  lip  to 
the  very  audible  expressions  of  scorn,  of  which  the 
chaste  hoiise-maids  were  very  prolific,  and  of  which 
they  became  still  more  so  when  the  man  returned 
and  said  the  young  woman  was  to  walk  up  stairs. 

"  It's  no  good  being  proper  in  this  world,"  said  the 
first  house-maid. 

"  Brass  can  do  better  than  the  gold  what  has  stood 
the  fire,"  said  the  second. 

The  third  contented  herself  with  wondering  "what 
ladies  was  made  of;"  and  the  fourth  took  the  first  in 
a  quartette  of  "  Shameful !"  with  which  the  Dianas 
concluded. 

Regardless  of  all  this,  for  she  had  weightier  mat 
ters  at  heart,  Nancy  followed  the  man,  with  trem 
bling  limbs,  to  a  small  antechamber  lighted  by  a 
lamp  from  the  ceiling.  Here  he  left  her,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A  STRANGE  INTERVIEW,  WHICH  IS  A  SEQUEL  TO  THE  LAST 
CHAPTER. 

THE  girl's  life  had  been  squandered  in  the  streets, 
and  among  the  most  noisome  of  the  stews  and 
dens  of  London,  but  there  was  something  of  the 
woman's  original  nature  left  in  her  still ;  and  when 
she  heard  a  light  step  approaching  the  door  opposite 
to  that  by  which  she  had  entered,  and  thought  of  the 
wide  contrast  which  the  small  room  would  in  anoth 
er  moment  contain,  she  felt  burdened  with  the  sense 
of  her  own  deep  shame,  and  shrunk  as  though  she 
could  scarcely  bear  the  presence  of  her  with  whom 
she  had  sought  this  interview. 

But  struggling  with  these  better  feelings  was  pride 
— the  vice  of  the  lowest  and  most  debased  creatures 
no  less  than  of  the  high  and  self-assured.  The  mis 
erable  companion  of  thieves  and  ruffians,  the  fallen 
outcast  of  low  haunts,  the  associate  of  the  scourings 


TWO  SISTEE-W01IEX. 


127 


of  the  jails  and  hulks,  living  within  the  shadow  of 
the  gallows  itself — even  this  degraded  being  felt  too 
proud  to  betray  a  feeble  gleam  of  the  womanly  feel 
ing  Avhich  she  thought  a  weakness,  but  which  alone 
connected  her  with  that  humanity  of  which  her  wast 
ing  life  had  obliterated  so  many,  many  traces  when  a 
very  child. 

She  raised  her  eyes  sufficiently  to  observe  that  the 
figure  which  presented  itself  was  that  of  a  slight  and 
beautiful  girl ;  then,  bending  them  on  the  ground, 
she  tossed  her  head  with  affected  carelessness  as  she 
said: 

"  It's  a  hard  matter  to  get  to  see  you,  lady.  If  I 
had  taken  offense  and  gone  away,  as  many  would 
have  done,  you'd  have  been  sorry  for  it  one  day,  and 
not  without  reason  either." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  if  any  one  has  behaved  harshly 
to  you,"  replied  Rose.  "  Do  not  think  of  that.  Tell 
me  why  you  wished  to  see  me.  I  am  the  person  you 
inquired  for." 

The  kind  tone  of  this  answer,  the  sweet  voice,  the 
gentle  manner,  the  absence  of  any  accent  of  haugh 
tiness  or  displeasure,  took  the  girl  completely  by  sur 
prise,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  lady!  lady  !"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  pas 
sionately  before  her  face,  "  if  there  was  more  like  you, 
there  would  be  fewer  like  me ;  there  would — there 
would !" 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Rose,  earnestly.  "  W  you  are  in 
poverty  or  affliction,  I  shall  be  truly  glad  to  relieve 
you,  if  I  can — I  shall,  indeed.  Sit  down." 

"  Let  me  stand,  lady,"  said  the  girl,  still  weeping, 
"  and  do  not  speak  to  me  so  kindly  till  you  know  me 
better.  It  is  growing  late.  Is— is — that  door  shut  f " 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  recoiling  a  few  steps,  as  if  to 
be  nearer  assistance  in  case  she  should  require  it. 
"  Why  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  am  about  to  put  my 
life,  and  the  lives  of  others,  in  your  hands.  I  am  the 
girl  that  dragged  little  Oliver  back  to  old  Fagiu's  on 
the  night  he  went  out  from  the  house  in  Peafconville." 

"  You !"  said  Rose  Maylie. 

"  I,  lady !"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  am  the  infamous 
creature  you  have  heard  of,  that  lives  among  the 
thieves,  and  that  never,  from  the  first  moment  I 
can  recollect  my  eyes  and  senses  opening  on  London 
streets,  have  known  any  better  life,  or  kinder  words 
than  they  have  given  me,  so  help  me  God !  Do  not 
mind  shrinking  openly  from  me,  lady.  I  am  young 
er  than  you  would  think,  to  look  at  me,  but  I  am 
well  used  to  it.  The  poorest  women  fall  back  as  I 
make  my  way  along  the  crowded  pavement." 

"  What  dreadful  things  are  these !"  said  Rose,  in 
voluntarily  falling  from  her  strange  companion. 

"  Thank  Heaven  upon  your  knees,  dear  lady,"  cried 
the  girl,  "•that  you  had  friends  to  care  for  and  keep 
you  in  your  childhood,  and  that  you  were  never  in 
the  midst  of  cold  and  hunger,  and  riot  and  drunken 
ness,  and — and — something  worse  than  all — as  I 
have  been  from  my  cradle.  I  may  use  the  word,  for 
the  alley  and  the  gutter  were  mine,  as  they  will  be 
my  death-bed." 

"  I  pity  you !"  said  Rose,  in  a  broken  voice.  "  It 
wrings  my  heart  to  hear  you !" 

"  Heaven  bless  you  for  your  goodness !"  rejoined 
the  girl.  "  If  you  knew  what  I  am  sometimes,  you 


would  pity  me,  indeed.  But  I  have  stolen  away 
from  those  who  would  surely  murder  me  if  they 
knew  I  had  been  here  to  tell  you  what  I  have  over 
heard.  Do  you  know  a  man  named  Monks  f 

"  No,"  said  Rose. 

"  He  knows  you,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  and  knew  you 
were  here,  for  it  was  by  hearing  him  tell  the  place 
that  I  found  you  out." 

"  I  never  heard  the  name,"  said  Rose. 

"  Then  he  goes  by  some  other  among  us,"  rejoined 
the  girl,  "  which  I  more  than  thought  before.  Some 
time  ago,  and  soon  after  Oliver  was  put  into  your 
house  on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  I — suspecting 
this  man — listened  to  a  conversation  held  between 
him  and  Fagin  in  the  dark.  I  found  out,  from  what 
I  heard,  that  Monks — the  man  I  asked  you  about, 
you  know — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  "  I  understand." 

"  — That  Monks,"  pursued  the  girl,  "  had  seen  him 
accidentally  with  two  of  our  boys  on  the  day  we  first 
lost  him,  and  had  known  him  directly  to  be  the  same 
child  that  he  was  watching  for,  though  I  couldn't 
make  out  why.  A  bargain  was  struck  with  Fagin, 
that  if  Oliver  was  got  back  he  should  have  a  certain 
sum;  and  he  was  to  have  more  for  making  him  a 
thief,  which  this  Monks  wanted  for  some  purpose  of 
his  own." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"  He  caught  sight  of  my  shadow  on  the  wall  as  I 
listened,  in  the  hope  of  finding  out,"  said  the  girl ; 
"and  there  are  not  many  people  besides  me  that 
could  have  got  out  of  their  way  in  time  to  escape 
discovery.  But  I  did ;  and  I  saw  him  no  more  till 
last  night." 

"And  what  occurred  then?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  lady.  Last  night  he  came  again. 
Again  they  went  up  stairs,  and  I,  wrapping  myself 
up  so  that  my  shadow  should  not  betray  me,  again 
listened  at  the  door.  The  first  words  I  heard  Monks 
say  were  these :  '  So  the  only  proofs  of  the  boy's 
identity  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the  river,  and  the  old 
hag  that  received  them  from  the  mother  is  rotting 
in  her  coffin.'  They  laughed,  and  talked  of  his  suc 
cess  in  doing  this ;  and  Monks,  talking  on  about  the 
boy,  and  getting  very  wild,  said  that  though  he  had 
got  the  young  devil's  money  safely  now,  he'd  rather 
have  had  it  the  other  way;  for  what  a  game  it 
would  have  been  to  have  brought  down  the  boast 
of  the  father's  will  by  driving  him  through  every 
jail  in  town,  and  then  hauling  him  up  for  some  cap 
ital  felony  which  Fagin  could  easily  manage,  after 
having  made  a  good  profit  of  him  beside." 

"  What  is  all  this  ?"  said  Rose. 

"  The  truth,  lady,  though  it  comes  from  my  lips," 
replied  the  girl.  "  Then,  he  said,  with  oaths  com 
mon  enough  in  my  ears,  but  strange  to  yours,  that  if 
he  could  gratify  his  hatred  by  taking  the  boy's  life 
without  bringing  his  own  neck  in  danger,  he  would; 
but,  as  he  couldn't,  he'd  be  upon  the  watch  to  meet 
him  at  every  turn  in  life ;  and  if  he  took  advantage 
of  his  birth  and  history,  he  might  harm  him  yet. 
'  In  short,  Fagin,'  he  says, '  Jew  as  you  are,  you  never 
laid  such  snares  as  I'll  contrive  for  my  young  broth 
er  Oliver." 

"  His  brother !"  exclaimed  Rose. 

"  Those  were  his  words,"  said  Xancy,  glancing  un- 


128 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


easily  round,  as  she  had  scarcely  ceased  to  do  since 
she  began  to  speak,  for  a  vision  of  Sikes  haunted  her 
perpetually.  "And  more.  When  he  spoke  of  you 
and  the  other  lady,  and  said  it  seemed  contrived  by 
Heaveu,  or  the  devil,  against  him,  that  Oliver  should 
come  into  your  hands,  he  laughed,  and  said  there 
was  some  comfort  in  that  too,  for  how  many  thou 
sands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  pounds  would 
you  not  give,  if  you  had  them,  to  know  who  your 
two-legged  spaniel  was." 

"  You  do  not  mean,"  said  Rose,  turning  very  pale, 
"  to  tell  me  that  this  was  said  in  earnest  ?" 

"  He  spoke  in  hard  and  angry  earnest, if  a  man  ever 
did,"  replied  the  girl,  shaking  her  head.  "  He  is  an 
earnest  man  when  his  hatred  is  up.  I  know  many 
who  do  worse  things ;  but  I'd  rather  listen  to  them 
all  a  dozen  times  than  to  that  Monks  once.  It  is 
growing  late,  and  I  have  to  reach  home  without  sus 
picion  of  having  been  on  such  an  errand  as  this.  I 
must  get  back  quickly." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?"  said  Rose.  "  To  what  use 
can  I  turn  this  communication  without  you  ?  Back ! 
Why  do  you  wish  to  return  to  companions  you  paint 
in  such  terrible  colors  ?  If  you  repeat  this  informa 
tion  to  a  gentleman  whom  I  can  summon  in  an  in 
stant  from  the  next  room,  you  can  be  consigned  to 
some  place  of  safety  without  half  an  hour's  delay." 

"  I  wish  to  go  back,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  must  go 
back,  because — how  can  I  tell  such  things  to  an  in 
nocent  lady  like  you? — because  among  the  men  I 
have  told  you  of  there  is  one — the  most  desperate 
among  them  all — that  I  can't  leave ;  no,  not  even  to 
be  saved  from  the  life  I  am  leading  now." 

"  Your  having  interfered  in  this  dear  boy's  behalf 
before,"  said  Rose ;  "  your  coming  here,  at  so  great  a 
risk,  to  tell  me  what  you  have  heard ;  your  manner, 
which  convinces  me  of  the  truth  of  what  you  say ; 
your  evident  contrition,  and  sense  of  shame ;  all  lead 
me  to  believe  that  you  might  be  yet  reclaimed.  Oh !" 
said  the  earnest  girl,  folding  her  hands  as  the  tears 
coursed  down  her  face, "  do  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  entreaties  of  one  of  your  own  sex ;  the  first — the 
first,  I  do  believe,  who  ever  appealed  to  you  in  the 
voice  of  pity  and  compassion.  Do  hear  my  words, 
and  let  me  save  you  yet  for  better  things." 

"Lady,"  cried  the  girl,  sinking  on  her  knees, "  dear, 
sweet,  angel  lady,  you  are  the  first  that  ever  blessed 
me  with  such  words  as  these ;  and  if  I  had  heard 
them  years  ago,  they  might  have  turned  me  from  a 
life  of  sin  and  sorrow ;  but  it  is  too  late,  it  is  too 
late!" 

"It  is  never  too  late,"  said  Rose, "  for  penitence  and 
atonement." 

"  It  is !"  cried  the  girl,  writhing  in  the  agony  of  her 
mind ;  "  I  can  not  leave  him  now !  I  could  not  be 
his  death." 

"  Why  should  you  be  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"  Nothing  could  save  him,"  cried  the  girl.  "  If  I 
told  others  what  I  have  told  you,  and  led  to  their 
being  taken,  he  would  be  sure  to  die.  He  is  the 
boldest,  and  has  been  so  cruel !"  . 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cried  Rose,  "  that  for  such  a  man 
as  this  you  can  resign  every  future  hope,  and  the 
certainty  of  immediate  rescue  ?  It  is  madness." 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  I 
only  know  that  it  is  so,  and  not  with  me  alone;  but 


with  hundreds  of  others  as  ba4  and  wretched  as  my 
self.  I  must  go  back.  Whether  it  is  God's  wrath 
for  the  wrong  I  have  done,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  am 
drawn  back  to  him,  through  every  suffering  and  ill- 
usage  ;  and  I  should  be,  I  believe,  if  I  knew  that  I 
was  to  die  by  his  hand  at  last."  ' 

"WThat  am  I  to  do?"  said  Rose.  "I  should  not 
let  you  depart  from  me  thus." 

"  You  should,  lady,  and  I  know  you  will,"  rejoined 
the  girl,  rising.  "  You  will  not  stop  my  going,  be 
cause  I  have  trusted  in  your  goodness,  and  forced 
no  promise  from  you,  as  I  might  have  done." 

"Of  what  use,  then,  is  the  communication  you 
have  made  ?"  said  Rose.  "  This  mystery  must  be  in 
vestigated,  or  how  will  its  disclosure  to  me  benefit 
Oliver,  whom  you  are  anxious  to  serve  ?" 

"  You  must  have  some  kind  gentleman  about  you 
that  will  hear  it  as  a  secret  and  advise  you  what  to 
do,"  rejoined  the  girl.  t 

"  But  where  can  I  find  you  again  when  it  is  nec 
essary  ?"  asked  Rose.  "  I  do  not  seek  to  know  where 
these  dreadful  people  live,  but  where  will  you  be 
walking  or  passing  at  any  settled  period  from  this 
time?" 

"  Will  you  promise  me  that  you  will  have  my  se 
cret  strictly  kept,  and  come  alone,  or  with  the  only 
other  person  that  knows  it,  and  that  I  shall  not  be 
watched  or  followed  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  I  promise  you  solemnly,"  answered  Rose. 

"  Every  Sunday  night  from  eleven  until  the  clock 
strikes  twelve,"  said  the  girl,  without  hesitation,  "I 
will  walk  on  London  Bridge,  if  I  am  alive." 

"  Stay  another  moment,"  interposed  Rose,  as  the 
girl  moved  hurriedly  toward  the  door.  "  Think  once 
again  on  your  own  condition,  and  the  opportunity 
you  have  of  escaping  from  it.  You  have  a  claim  on 
me,  not  only  as  the  voluntary  bearer  of  this  intelli 
gence,  but  as  a  woman  lost  almost  beyond  redemp 
tion.  Will  you  return  to  this  gang  of  robbers,  and 
to  this  man,  when  a  word  can  save  you  ?  What  fas 
cination  Ik  it  that  can  take  you  back  and  make  you 
cling  to  wickedness  and  misery?  Oh!  is  there  no 
chord  in  your  heart  that  I  can  touch  ?  Is  there 
nothing  left  to  which  I  can  appeal  against  this  ter 
rible  infatuation  ?" 

"  When  ladies  as  young,  and  good,  and  beautiful 
as  you  are,"  replied  the  girl,  steadily,  "  give  away 
your  hearts,  love  will  carry  you  all  lengths — even 
such  as  you,  who  have  home,  friends,  other  admirers, 
every  thing  to  fill  them.  When  such  as  I,  Avho  have 
no  certain  roof  but  the  coffin-lid,  and  no  Mend  in 
sickness  or  death  but  the  hospital  nurse,  set  our  rot 
ten  hearts  on  any  man,  and  let  him  fill  the  place 
that  has  been  a  blank  through  all  our  wretched 
lives,  who  can  hope  to  cure  us  ?  Pity  us,  lady — pity 
us  for  having  only  one  feeling  of  the  woman  left, 
and  for  having  that  turned  by  a  heavy  judgment 
from  a  comfort  and  a  pride,  into  a  new  means  of  vi 
olence  and  suffering." 

"  You  will,"  said  Rose,  after  a  pause,  "  take  somo 
money  from  me,  which  may  enable  you  to  live  with 
out  dishonesty — at  all  events,  until  we  meet  again  .'" 

"  Not  a  penny,"  replied  the  girl,  waving  her  hand. 

"  Do  not  close  your  heart  against  all  my  efforts  to 
help  you,"  said  Rose,  stepping  gently  fonvard.  "  I 
wish  to  serve  you,  indeed." 


HOW  TO  ACT  NOW? 


129 


"  You  would  serve  me  best,  lady,"  replied  the  girl, 
wringing  her  hands,  "  if  you  could  take  my  life  at 
once ;  for  I  have  felt  more  grief  to  think  of  what  I 
am  to-night  than  I  ever  did  before,  and  it  would  be 
something  not  to  die  in  the  hell  in  which  I  have 
lived.  God  bless  you,  sweet  lady,  and  send  as  much 
happiness  on  your  head  as  I  have  brought  shame  on 
mine !" 

Thus  speaking,  and  sobbing  aloud,  the  unhappy 
creature  turned  away ;  while  Rose  Maylie,  overpow 
ered  by  this  extraordinary  interview,  which  had  more 
the  resemblance  of  a  rapid  dream  than  an  actual  oc 
currence,  sank  into  a  chair,  and  endeavored  to  collect 
her  wandering  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

CONTAINING    FRESH    DISCOVERIES,    AND    SHOWING    THAT 
SURPRISES,  LIKE  MISFORTUNES,  SELDOM  COME  ALONE. 

HER  situation  was,  indeed,  one  of  no  common  tri 
al  and  difficulty.  While  she  felt  the  most  ea 
ger  and  burning  desire  to  penetrate  the  mystery  in 
which  Oliver's  history  was  enveloped,  she  could  not 
but  hold  sacred  the  confidence  which  the  miserable 
woman  with  whom  she  had  just  conversed  had  re 
posed  in  her,  as  a  young  and  guileless  girl.  Her 
words  and  manner  had  touched  Rose  Maylie's  heart ; 
and,  mingled  with  her  love  for  her  young  charge,  and 
scarcely  less  intense,  in  its  truth  and  fervor,  was  her 
fond  wish  to  win  the  outcast  back  to  repentance  and 
hope. 

They  purposed  remaining  in  London  only  three 
days,  prior  to  departing  for  some  weeks  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  coast.  It  was  now  midnight  of  the  first 
day.  What  course  of  action  could  she  determine 
upon  which  could  be  adopted  in  eight -and -forty 
hours?  Or  how  could  she  postpone  the  journey 
without  exciting  suspicion  ? 

Mr.  Losberne  was  with  them,  and  would  be  for  the 
next  two  days;  but  Rose  was  too  well  acquainted 
with  the  excellent  gentleman's  impetuosity,  and  fore 
saw  too  clearly  the  wrath  with  which,  in  the  first 
explosion  of  his  indignation,  he  would  regard  the  in 
strument  of  Oliver's  recapture,  to  trust  him  with  the 
secret,  when  her  representations  in  the  girl's  behalf 
could  be  seconded  by  no  experienced  person.  These 
were  all  reasons  for  the  greatest  caution  and  most 
circumspect  behavior  in  communicating  it  to  Mrs. 
Maylie,  whose  first  impulse  would  infallibly  be  to 
hold  a  conference  with  the  worthy  doctor  on  the 
subject.  As  to  resorting  to  any  legal  adviser,  even 
if  she  had  known  how  to  do  so,  it  was  scarcely  to  be 
thought  of  for  the  same  reasons.  Once  the  thought 
occurred  to  her  of  seeking  assistance  from  Harry; 
but  this  awakened  the  recollection  of  their  last  part 
ing,  and  it  seemed  unworthy  of  her  to  call  him  back, 
when  —  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes  as  she  pursued 
this  train  of  reflection — he  might  have  by  this  time 
learned  to  forget  her,  and  to  be  happier  away. 

Disturbed  by  these  different  reflections ;  inclining 
now  to  one  course  and  then  to  another,  and  again 
recoiling  from  all,  as  each  successive  consideration 
presented  itself  to  her  mind,  Rose  passed  a  sleepless 
and  anxious  night.  After  more  communing  with 


herself  next  day,  she  arrived  at  the  desperate  con 
clusion  of  consulting  Harry. 

"  If  it  be  painful  to  him,"  she  thought,  "  to  come 
back  here,  how  painful  it  will  be  to  me !  But  per 
haps  he  will  not  come;  he  may  write,  or  he  may 
come  himself,  and  studiously  abstain  from  meeting 
me — he  did  when  he  went  away.  I  hardly  thought 
he  would ;  but  it  was  better  for  us  both."  And  here 
Rose  dropped  the  pen  and  turned  away,  as  though 
the  very  paper  which  was  to  be  her  messenger  should 
not  see  her  weep. 

She  had  taken  up  the  same  pen  and  laid  it  down 
again  fifty  times,  and  had  considered  and  reconsid 
ered  the  first  line  of  her  letter  without  writing  the 
first  word,  when  Oliver,  who  had  been  walking  in 
the  streets,  with  Mr.  Giles  for  a  body-guard,  entered 
the  room  in  such  breathless  haste  and  violent  agita 
tion,  as  seemed  to  betoken  some  new  cause  of  alarm. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  flurried  ?"  asked  Rose, 
advancing  to  meet  him. 

"  I  hardly  know  how ;  I  feel  as  if  I  should  be 
choked,"  replied  the  boy.  "Oh  dear!  To  think 
that  I  should  see  him  at  last,  and  you  should  be  able 
to  know  that  I  have  told  you  all  the  truth !" 

"  I  never  thought  you  had  told  us  any  thing  but 
the  truth,"  said  Rose,  soothing  him.  "  But  what  is 
this  ? — of  whom  do  you  speak  ?" 

"I  have  seen  the  gentleman,"  replied  Oliver,  scarce 
ly  able  to  articulate,  "  the  gentleman  who  was  so 
good  to  me — Mr.  Brownlow,  that  we  have  so  often 
talked  about." 

"  Where  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"  Getting  out  of  a  coach,"  replied  Oliver,  shedding 
tears  of  delight,  "  and  going  into  'a  house.  I  didn't 
speak  to  bim — I  couldn't  speak  to  him,  for  he  didn't 
see  me,  and  I  trembled  so  that  I  was  not  able  to  go 
up  to  him.  But  Giles  asked,  for  me,  whether  he 
lived  there,  and  they  said  he  did.  Look  here,"  said 
Oliver,  opening  a  scrap  of  paper,  "  here  it  is ;  here's 
where  he  lives — I'm  going  there  directly !  Oh,  dear 
me,  dear  me !  What  shall  I  do  when  I  come  to  see 
him  and  hear  him  speak  again  H' 

With  her  attention  not  a  little  distracted  by  these 
and  a  great  many  other  incoherent  exclamations  of 
joy,  Rose  read  the  address,  which  was  Craven  Street, 
in  the  Strand.  She  very  soon  determined  upon  turn 
ing  the  discovery  to  account. 

"Quick!"  she' said.  "Tell  them  to  fetch  a  hack 
ney-coach,  and  be  ready  to  go  with  me.  I  will  take 
you  there  directly,  without  a  minute's  loss  of  time. 
I  will  only  tell  my  aunt  that  we  are  going  out  for 
an  hour,  and  be  ready  as  soon  as  you  are." 

Oliver  needed  no  prompting  to  dispatch,  and  in 
little  more  than  five  minutes  they  were  on  their  way 
to  Craven  Street.  When  they  arrived  there,  Rose 
left  Oliver  in  the  coach,  under  pretense  of  preparing 
the  old  gentleman  to  receive  him ;  and  sending  up 
her  card  by  the  servant,  requested  to  see  Mr.  Brown- 
low  on  very  pressing  business.  The  servant  soon  re 
turned  to  beg  that  she  would  walk  up  stairs ;  and 
following  him  into  an  upper  room,  Miss.  Maylie  was 
presented  to  an  elderly  gentleman  of  benevolent  ap 
pearance,  in  a  bottle-green  coat;  at  no  great  dis 
tance  from  whom  was  seated  another  old  gentleman, 
in  nankeen  breeches  and  gaiters,  who  did  not  look 
particularly  benevolent,  and  who  was  sitting  with 


130 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


his  bauds  clasped  on  the  top  of  a  thick  stick,  and 
bis  cbin  propped  thereupon. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  bottle-green 
coat,  hastily  rising  with  great  politeness,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  youug  lady — I  imagined  it  was  some  impor 
tunate  person  who — I  beg  you  will  excuse  me.  Be 
seated,  pray." 

"  Mr.  Brownlow,  I  believe,  sir  ?"  said  Rose,  glan 
cing  from  the  other  gentleman  to  the  one  who  had 
spoken. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  This 
is  my  friend,  Mr.  Griinwig.  Grim  wig,  will  you  leave 
us  for  a  few  minutes  ?" 

"  I  believe,"  interposed  Miss  Maylie,  "  that  at  this 
period  of  our  interview  I  need  not  give  that  gentle 
man  the  trouble  of  going  away.  If  I  am  correctly 
informed,  he  is  cognizant  of  the  business  on  which  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you." 

Mr  Brownlow  inclined  his  head.  Mr.  Grimwig, 
who  had  made  one  very  stiff  bow,  and  risen  from  his 
chair,  made  another  very  stiff  bow,  and  dropped  into 
it  again. 

"  I  shall  surprise  you  very  much,  I  have  no  doubt," 
said  Rose,,  naturally  embarrassed ;  "  but  you  once 
showed  great  benevolence  and  goodness  to  a  very 
dear  young  Mend  of  mine,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
take  an  interest  in  hearing  of  him  again." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  Oliver  Twist  you  knew  him  as,"  replied  Rose. 

The  words  no  sooner  escaped  her  lips,  than  Mr. 
Grimwig,  who  had  been  affecting  to  dip  into  a  large 
book  that  lay  on  the  table,  upset  it  with  a  great 
crash,  and  falling  back  in  his  chair,  discharged  from 
his  features  every  expression  but  one  of  unmitigated 
wonder,  and  indulged  in  a  prolonged  and  vacant 
stare ;  then,  as  if  ashamed  of  having  betrayed  so 
much  emotion,  he  jerked  himself,  as  it  were,  by  a 
convulsion  into  his  former  attitude,  and  looking  out 
straight  before  him,  emitted  a  long  deep  whistle, 
which  seemed  at  last  not  to  be  discharged  on  empty 
air,  but  to  die  away  in  the  iunermost  recesses  of  his 
stomach. 

Mr.  Brownlow  was  no  less  surprised,  although  his 
astonishment  was  not  expressed  in  the  same  eccen 
tric  manner.  He  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  Miss  May- 
lie's,  and  said, 

"  Do  me  the  favor,  my  dear  young  lady,  to  leave 
entirely  out  of  the  question  that  gooduess  and  benev 
olence  of  which  you  speak,  and  of  which  nobody  else 
knows  any  thing  ;  and  if  you  have  it  in  your  power 
to  produce  any  evidence  which  will  alter  the  unfa 
vorable  opinion  I  was  once  induced  to  entertain  of 
that  poor  child,  in  Heaven's  name  put  me  in  posses 
sion  of  it." 

"  A  bad  one !  I'll  eat  my  head  if  he  is  not  a  bad 
one !"  growled  Mr.  Grimwig,  speaking  by  some  ven- 
triloquial  power,  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his 
face. 

"  He  is  a  child  of  a  noble  nature  and  a  warm  heart," 
said  Rose,  coloring ;  "and  that  Power  which  has 
thought  fit  to  try  him  beyond  his  years  has  planted 
in  his  breast  affections  and  feelings  which  would  do 
honor  to  many  who  have  numbered  his  days  six 
times  over." 

"  I'm  only  sixty-one,"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  with  the 
same  rigid  face.  "And,  as  the  devil's  in  it  if  this 


Oliver  is  not  twelve  years  old  at  least,  I  don't  see 
the  application  of  that  remark." 

"  Do  not  heed  my  friend,  Miss  Maylie,"  said  Mr. 
Brownlow  ;  "he  does  not  mean  Avhafc  he  says." 

"  Yes  he  does,"  growled  Mr.  Grimwig. 

"  No,  he  does  not,"  said  Mr.  Browulow,  obviously 
rising  in  wrath  as  he  spoke. 

"  He'll  eat  his  head,  if  he  doesn't,"  growled  Mr. 
Grimwig. 

"  He  would  deserve  to  have  it  knocked  off,  if  he 
does,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"And  he'd  uncommonly  like  to  see  any  man  offer 
to  do  it,"  responded  Mr.  Grimwig,  knocking  his  stick 
upon  the  floor. 

Having  gone  thus  far,  the  two  old  gentlemen  sev 
erally  took  snuff,  and  afterward  shook  hands,  accord 
ing  to  their  invariable  custom. 

"  Now,  Miss  Maylie,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  "  to  return 
to  the  subject  in  which  your  humanity  is  so  much  in 
terested.  Will  you  let  me  know  what  intelligence 
you  have  of  this  poor  child ;  allowing  me  to  premise 
that  I  exhausted  every  means  in  my  power  of  dis 
covering  him,  and  that  since  I  have  been  absent 
from  this  country,  my  first  impression  that  he  had 
imposed  upon  me,  and  had  been  persuaded  by  his 
former  associates  to  rob  me,  has  been  considerably 
shaken." 

Rose,  who  had  had  time  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
at  once  related,  in  a  few  natural  words,  all  that  had 
befallen  Oliver  since  he  left  Mr.  Brownlow's  house  ; 
reserving  Nancy's  information  for  that  gentleman's 
private  ear,  and  concluding  with  the  assurance  that 
his  only  sorrow  for  some  months  past  had  been  the 
not  being  able  to  meet  with  his  former  benefactor 
and  friend. 

"  Thank  God !"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  This  is 
great  happiness  to  me,  great  happiness.  But  you 
have  not  told  me  where  he  is  now,  Miss  Maylie.  You 
must  pardon  my  finding  fault  with  you — but  why 
not  have  brought  him  ?" 

"He  is  waiting  in  a  coach  at  the  door," replied 
Rose. 

"At  this  door!"  cried  the  old  gentleman.  With 
which  he  hurried  out  of  the  room,  down  the  stairs, 
up  the  coach-steps,  and  into  the  coach,  without  an 
other  word. 

When  the  room-door  closed  behind  him,  Mr.  Grim- 
wig  lifted  up  his  head,  and  converting  one  of  the 
hind  legs  of  his  chair  into  a  pivot,  described  three 
distinct  circles  with  the  assistance  of  his  stick  and 
the  table,  sitting  in  it  all  the  time.  After  perform 
ing  this  evolution,  he  rose  and  limped  as  fast  as  he 
could  up  and  down  the  room  at  least  a  dozen  times, 
and  then  stopping  suddenly  before  Rose,  kissed  her 
without  the  slightest  preface. 

"  Hush !"  he  said,  as  the  young  lady  rose  in  some 
alarm  at  this  unusual  proceeding.  "  Don't  be  afraid. 
I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather.  You're  a 
sweet  girl.  I  like  you.  Here  they  are !" 

In  fact,  as  he  threw  himself  at  one  dexterous  dive 
into  his  former  seat,  Mr.  Brownlow  returned,  accom 
panied  by  Oliver,  whom  Mr.  Grimwig  received  very 
graciously ;  and  if  the  gratification  of  that  moment 
had  been  the  only  reward  for  all  her  anxiety  and  can- 
in  Oliver's  behalf,  Rose  Maylie  would  have  been  well 
repaid. 


ME.  BEOWNLOW'S  HEAD  FOR  THINKING. 


131 


"There  is  somebody  else  who  should  uot  be  for 
gotten,  by-the-bye,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  riiiging  the 
bell.  "  Seud  Mrs.  Bed  win  here,  if  you  please." 

The  old  housekeeper  auswered  the  summons  with 
all  dispatch ;  and  dropping  a  courtesy  at  the  door, 
waited  for  orders. 

"  Why,  you  get  blinder  every  day,  Bedwin,"  said 
Mr.  Brownlow,  rather  testily. 

"  Well,  that  I  do,  sir,"  replied  the  old  lady.  "  Peo 
ple's  eyes,  at  my  time  of  life,  don't  improve  with  age, 
sir." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that,"  rejoined  Mr.  Brown- 
low  ;  "  but  put  on  your  glasses,  and  see  if  you  can't 
find  out  what  you  were  wanted  for,  will  you  f ' 

The  old  lady  began  to  rummage  in  her  pocket  for 
her  spectacles.  But  Oliver's  patience  was  not  proof 
against  this  new  trial ;  and  yielding  to  his  first  im 
pulse,  he  sprang  into  her  arms. 

"  God  be  good  to  me !"  cried  the  old  lady,  embra 
cing  him ;  "  it  is  my  innocent  boy !" 

"  My  dear  old  nurse !"  cried  Oliver. 

"  He  would  come  back — I  knew  he  would,"  said 
the  old  lady,  holding  him  in  her  arms.  "  How  well 
he  looks,  and  how  like  a  gentleman's  son  he  is  dressed 
again !  Where  have  you  been  this  long,  long  while  ? 
Ah !  the  same  sweet  face,  but  not  so  pale ;  the  same 
soft  eye,  but  not  so  sad.  I  have  never  forgotten  them 
or  his  quiet  smile,  but  have  seen  them  every  day,  side 
by  side  with  those  of  my  own  dear  children,  (lead  and 
gone  since  I  was  a  lightsome  young  creature."  Euu- 
uiiig  on  thus,  and  now  holding  Oliver  from  her  to 
mark  how  he  had  grown,  now  clasping  him  to  her 
and  passing  her  fingers  fondly  through  his  hair,  the 
good  soul  laughed  and  wept  upon  his  neck  by  turns. 

Leaving  her  and  Oliver  to  compare  notes  at  lei 
sure,  Mr.  Brownlow  led  the  way  into  another  room, 
and  there  heard  from'  Eose  a  full  narration  of  her 
interview  with  Nancy,  which  occasioned  him  no  lit 
tle  surprise  and  perplexity.  Rose  also  explained 
her  reasons  for  not  confiding  in  her  friend  Mr.  Los- 
berne  in  the  first  instance.  The  old  gentleman  con 
sidered  that  she  had  acted  prudently,  and  readily  un 
dertook  to  hold  solemn  conference  with  the  worthy 
doctor  himself.  To  afford  him  an  early  opportunity 
for  the  execution  of  this  design,  it  was  arranged  that 
he  should  call  at  the  hotel  at  eight  o'clock  that  even 
ing,  and  that  in  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Maylie  should  be 
cautiously  informed  of  all  that  had  occurred.  These 
preliminaries  adjusted,  Eose  and  Oliver  returned 
home. 

Eose  had  by  no  means  overrated  the  measure  of 
the  good  doctor's  wrath.  Nancy's  history  was  no 
sooner  unfolded  to  him,  than  he  poured  forth  a 
shower  of  mingled  threats  and  execrations,  threat 
ened  to  make  her  the  first  victim  of  the  combined  in 
genuity  of  Messrs.  Blathers  and  Duff,  and  actually 
put  on  his  hat  preparatory  to  sallying  forth  to  ob 
tain  the  assistance  of  those  worthies.  And  doubt 
less  he  would,  in  this  first  outbreak,  have  carried  the 
intention  into  effect  without  a  moment's  considera 
tion  of  the  consequences,  if  he  had  not  been  restrain 
ed  in  part  by  corresponding  violence  on  the"  side  of 
Mr.  Brownlow,  who  was  himself  of  an  irascible  tem 
perament,  and  partly  by  such  arguments  and  repre 
sentations  as  seemed  best  calculated  to  dissuade  him 
from  Ms  hot-brained  purpose. 


"  Then  what  the  devil  is  to  be  done  ?"  said  the  im 
petuous  doctor,  when  they  had  rejoined  the  two  la 
dies.  "  Are  we  to  pass  a  vote  of  thanks  to  all  these 
vagabonds,  male  and  female,  and  beg  them  to  accept 
a  hundred  pounds  or  so  apiece,  as  a  trifling  mark  of 
our  esteem,  and  some  slight  acknowledgment  of  their 
kindness  to  Oliver  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  that,"  rejoined  Mr.  Brownlow,  laugh 
ing,  "  but  we  must  proceed  gently  and  with  great 
care." 

"Gentleness  and  care!"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 
"  I'd  send  them,  one  and  all,  to — " 

"  Never  mind  where,"  interposed  Mr.  Brownlow. 
"  But  reflect  whether  sending  them  anywhere  is  like 
ly  to  attain  the  object  we  have  in  view." 

"  What  object  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Simply  the  discovery  of  Oliver's  parentage,  and 
regaining  for  him  the  inheritance  of  which,  if  this 
stcry  be  true,  he  has  been  fraudulently  deprived." 

"  Ah !"  said  Mr.  Losberue,  cooling  himself  with  his 
pocket-handkerchief;  "I  almost  forgot  that." 

"  You  see,"  pursued  Mr.  Brownlow,  "  placing  this 
poor  girl  entirely  out  of  the  question,  and  supposing 
it  were  possible  to  bring  these  scoundrels  to  justice 
without  compromising  her  safety,  what  good  should 
we  bring  about  ?" 

"  Hanging  a  few  of  them,  at  least,  in  all  probabil 
ity,"  suggested  the  doctor,  "and  transporting  the 
rest." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  Mr. Brownlow,  smiling  ;  "but 
no  doubt  they  will  bring  that  about  for  themselves 
in  the  fullness  of  time ;  and  if  we  step  in  to  forestall 
them,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  shall  be  performing  a 
very  Quixotic  act,  in  direct  opposition  to  our  own  in 
terest — or  at  least  to  Oliver's,  which  is  the  same 
thing." 

"  How  ?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"  Thus.  It  is  quite  clear  that  we  shall  have  ex 
treme  difficulty  in  getting  to  the  bottom  of  this  mys 
tery,  unless  we  can  bring  this  man,  Monks,  upon  his 
knees.  That  can  only  be  done  by  stratagem,  and  by 
catching  him  when  he  is  not  surrounded  by  these 
people.  *For,  suppose  he  were  apprehended,  we  have 
no  proof  against  him.  He  is  not  even  (so  far  as  we 
know,  or  as  the  facts  appear  to  us)  concerned  with 
the  gang  in  any  of  their  robberies.  If  he  were  not 
discharged,  it  is  very  unlikely  that  he  could  receive 
any  further  punishment  than  being  committed  to 
prison  as  a  rogue  and  vagabond ;  and  of  course  ever 
afterward  his  mouth  would  be  so  obstinately  closed 
that  he  might  as  well,  for  our  purposes,  be  deaf,  dumb, 
blind,  and  an  idiot." 

"  Then,"  said  the  doctor,  impetuously,  "  I  put  it  to 
you  again,  whether  you  think  it  reasonable  that  this 
promise  to  the  girl  should  be  considered  binding ;  a 
promise  made  with  the  best  and  kindest  intentions, 
but  really — 

"  Do  not  discuss  the  point,  my  dear  young  lady, 
pray,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  interrupting  Eose  as  she 
was  about  to  speak.  "  The  promise  shall  be  kept. 
I  don't  think  it  will,  in  the  slightest  degree,  interfere 
with  our  proceedings.  But  before  we  can  resolve 
upon  any  precise  course  of  action,  it  will  be  necessa 
ry  to  see  the  girl,  to  ascertain  from  her  whether  she 
will  point  out  this  Monks,  on  the  understanding  that 
he  is  to  be  dealt  with  by  us,  and  not  by  the  law ;  or, 


132 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


if  she  will  not  or  can  not  do  that,  to  procure  from 
her  such  an  account  of  his  haunts  and  description  of 
his  person  as  will  enable  us  to  identify  him.  She 
can  not  he  seen  until  next  Sunday  night ;  this  is 
Tuesday.  I  would  suggest  that  in  the  mean  time  we 
remain  perfectly  quiet,  and  keep  these  matters  secret 
even  from  Oliver  himself." 

Although  Mr.  Losherne  received  with  many  wry 
faces  a  proposal  involving  a  delay  of  five  whole  days, 
he  was  fain  to  admit  that  no  better  course  occurred 
to  him  just  then ;  and  as  both  Rose  and  Mrs.  May  lie 
sided  very  strongly  with  Mr.  Brownlow,  that  gentle 
man's  proposition  was  carried  unanimously. 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said,  "  to  call  in  the  aid  of  my 
friend  Grimwig.  He  is  a  strange  creature,  but  a 
shrewd  one,  and  might  prove  of  material  assistance 
to  us ;  I  should  say  that  he  was  bred  a  lawyer,  and 
quitted  the  Bar  in  disgust  because  he  had  only  one 
brief  and  a  motion  of  course,  in  twenty  years,  though 
whether  that  is  a  recommendation  or  not,  you  must 
determine  for  yourselves." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  your  calling  in  your  friend 
if  I  may  call  in  mine,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  We  must  put  it  to  the  vote,"  replied  Mr.  Brown- 
low,  "  who  may  he  be  ?" 

"  That  lady's  son,  and  this  young  lady's — very  old 
friend,"  said  the  doctor,  motioning  toward  Mrs.  May- 
lie,  and  concluding  with  an  expressive  glance  at  her 
niece. 

Eose  blushed  deeply,  but  she  did  not  make  any 
audible  objection  to  this  motion  (possibly  she  felt  in 
a  hopeless  minority) ;  and  Harry  Maylie  and  Mr.  Grim- 
wig  were  accordingly  added  to  the  committee. 

"  We  stay  in  town,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie, 
"while  there  remains  the  slightest  prospect  of  pros 
ecuting  this  inquiry  with  a  chance  of  success.  I  will 
spare  neither  trouble  nor  expense  in  behalf  of  the  ob 
ject  in  which  we  are  all  so  deeply  interested,  and  I 
am  content  to  remain  here,  if  it  be  for  twelve  mouths, 
so  long  as  you  assure  me  that  any  hope  remains." 

"Good!"  rejoined  Mr.  Brownlow.  "And  as  I  see 
on  the  faces  about  me  a  disposition  to  inquire  how  it 
happened  that  I  was  not  in  the  way  to  corroborate 
Oliver's  tale,  and  had  so  suddenly  left  the  kingdom, 
let  me  stipulate  that  I  shall  be  asked  no  questions 
until  such  time  as  I  may  deem  it  expedient  to  fore 
stall  them  by  telling  my  own  story.  Believe  me,  I 
make  this  request  with  good  reason,  for  I  might  oth 
erwise  excite  hopes  destined  never  to  be  realized,  and 
only  increase  difficulties  and  disappointments  already 
quite  numerous  enough.  Come !  Supper  has  been 
announced,  and  young  Oliver,  who  is  all  alone  in  the 
next  room,  will  have  begun  to  think  by  this  time  that 
we  have  wearied  of  his  company,  and  entered  into 
some  dark  conspiracy  to  thrust  him  forth  upon  the 
world." 

With  these  words,  the  old  gentleman  gave  his  hand 
to  Mrs.  Maylie,  and  escorted  her  into  the  supper-room. 
Mr.  Losberne  followed,  leading  Rose,  and  the  council 
was,  for  the  present,  effectually  broken  up. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  OLIVER'S,  EXHIBITING  DE 
CIDED  MAKKS  OF  GENIUS,  BECOMES  A  PUBLIC  CHARAC 
TER  IN  THE  METROPOLIS. 

TTPON  the  night  when  Nancy,  having  lulled  Mr. 
l_J  Sikes  to  sleep,  hurried  on  her  self-imposed  mis 
sion  to  Rose  Maylie,  there  advanced  toward  London 
by  the  Great  North  Road  two  persons,  upon  whom  it 
is  expedient  that  this  history  should  bestow  some  at 
tention. 

They  were  a  man  and  woman ;  or  perhaps  they 
would  be  better  described  as  a  male  and  female  :  for 
the  former  was  one  of  those  long-limbed,  knock- 
kneed,  shambling,  bony  people,  to  whom  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  assign  any  precise  age — looking  as  they  do, 
when  they  are  yet  boys,  like  undergrown  men,  and 
when  they  are  almost  men,  like  overgrown  boys. 
The  woman  was  young,  but  of  a  robust  and  hardy 
make,  as  she  need  have  been  to  bear  the  weight  of 
the  heavy  bundle  which  was  strapped  to  her  back. 
Her  companion  was  not  iucumbered  with  much  lug- 
gage,  as  there  merely  dangled  from  a  stick  which  he 
carried  over  his  shoulder  a  small  parcel  wrapped  in  a 
common  handkerchief,  and  apparently  light  enough. 
This  circumstance,  added  to  the  length  of  his  legs, 
which  were  of  unusual  extent,  enabled  him  with 
much  ease  to  keep  some  half  dozen  paces  in  advance 
of  his  companion,  to  whom  he  occasionally  turned 
with  an  impatient  jerk  of  the  head,  as  if  reproaching 
her  tardiness,  and  urging  her  to  greater  exertion. 

Thus  they  had  toiled  along  the  dusty  road,  taking 
little  heed  of  any  object  within  sight,  save  when 
they  stepped  aside  to  allow  a  wider  passage  for  the 
mail-coaches  which  were  whirling  out  of  town,  un 
til  they  passed  through  Highgate  archway ;  when 
the  foremost  traveler  stopped  and  called  impatiently 
to  his  companion. 

"  Come  on,  can't  yer  ?  What  a  lazybones  ver  are, 
Charlotte !" 

"  It's  a  heavy  load,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  the  female, 
coming  up,  almost  breathless  with  fatigue. 

"Heavy!  What  are  yer  talking  about?  What 
are  yer  made  for  ?"  rejoined  the  male  traveler,  chang 
ing  his  own  little  bundle  as  he  spoke,  to  the  other 
shoulder.  "  Oh,  there  yer  are,  resting  again !  Well, 
if  yer  ain't  enough  to  tire  any  body's  patience  out,  I 
don't  know  what  is !" 

"  Is  it  much  farther  ?"  asked  the  woman,  resting 
herself  against  a  bank,  and  looking  up  with  the  per 
spiration  streaming  from  her  face. 

"  Much  farther !  Yer  as  good  as  there,"  said  the 
long-legged  tramper,  pointing  out  before  him.  "  Look 
there !  Those  are  the  lights  of  London." 

"  They're  a  good  two  mile  off,  at  least,"  said  the 
woman,  despondingly. 

"Never  mind  whether  they're  two  mile  off,  or 
twenty,"  said  Noah  Claypole,  for  he  it  was;  "but 
get  up  and  come  on,  or  I'll  kick  yer,  and  so  I  give 
yer  notice." 

As  Noah's  red  nose  grew  redder  with  anger,  and 
as  he  crossed  the  road  while  speaking,  as  if  fully 
prepared  to  put  his  threat  into  execution,  the  wom 
an  rose  without  any  further  remark,  and  trudged  on 
ward  by  his  side. 

"  Where  do  you  mean  to  stop  for  the  night,  Noah  ?" 


MB.  CLAYPOLE  AND  LADY. 


133 


she  asked,  after  they  had  walked  a  few  hundred 
yards. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  replied  Noah,  whose  tem 
per  had  been  considerably  impaired  by  walking. 

"  Near,  I  hope,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  No,  not  near,"  replied  Mr.  Claypole.  "  There  ! 
Not  near ;  so  don't  think  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  When  I  tell  yer  that  I  don't  mean  to  do  a  thing, 
that's  enough,  without  any  why  or  because  either," 
replied  Mr.  Claypole,  with  dignity. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  so  cross,"  said  his  com 
panion. 

"A  pretty  thing  it  would  be,  wouldn't  it,  to  go  and 
stop  at  the  very  first  public-house  outside  the  town, 
so  that  Sowerberry,  if  he  come  up  after  us,  might 


"  I  took  it  for  you,  Noah,  dear,"  rejoined  Charlotte. 

"  Did  I  keep  it  ?"  asked  Mr.  Claypole. 

"No;  you  trusted  in  me,  and  let  me  carry  it,  like 
a  dear,  and  so  you  are,"  said  the  lady,  chucking  him 
under  the  chin,  and  drawing  her  arm  through  his. 

This  was  indeed  the  case ;  but  as  it  was  not  Mr. 
Claypole's  habit  to  repose  a  blind  and  foolish  confi 
dence  in  any  body,  it  should  be  observed,  in  justice 
to  that  gentleman,  that  he  had  trusted  Charlotte  to 
this  extent,  in  order  that,  if  they  were  pursued,  the 
money  might  be  found  on  her ;  which  would  leave 
him  an  opportunity  of  asserting  his  innocence  of  any 
theft,  and  would  greatly  facilitate  his  chances  of  es 
cape.  Of  course  he  entered,  at  this  juncture,  into  no 
explanation  of  his  motives,  and  they  walked  on  very 
lovingly  together. 


'  LOOK  THERE  !  THOSE  AKE  THE  LIGHTS  OP  LONDON." 


poke  in  his  old  nose,  and  have  us  taken  back  in  a 
cart  with  handcuffs  on,"  said  Mr.  Claypole,  in  a  jeer 
ing  tone.  "  No !  I  shall  go  and  lose  myself  among 
the  narrowest  streets  I  can  find,  and  not  stop  till  we 
come  to  the  very  out-of-the-wayest  house  I  can  set 
eyes  on.  'Cod,  yer  may  thank  yer  stars  I've  got  a 
head ;  for  if  we  hadn't  gone  at  first  the  wrong  road 
a  purpose,  and  come  back  across  country,  yer'd  have 
been  locked  up  hard  and  fast  a  week  ago,  my  lady. 
And  serve  yer  right  for  being  a  fool." 

"  I  know  I  ain't  as  cunning  as  you  are,"  replied 
Charlotte ;  "  but  don't  put  all  the  blame  on  me,  and 
say  /  should  have  been  locked  up.  You  would  have 
been  if  I  had  been,  any  way." 

"  Yer  took  the  money  from  the  till,  yer  know  yer 
did,"  said  Mr.  Claypole. 


In  pursuance  of  this  cautious  plan,  Mr.  Claypole 
went  on,  without  halting,  until  he  arrived  at  the 
Angel  at  Islington,  where  he  wisely  judged,  from 
the  crowd  of  passengers  and  number  of  vehicles,  that 
London  began  in  earnest.  Just  pausing  to  observe 
which  appeared  the  most  crowded  streets,  and  con 
sequently  the  most  to  be  avoided,  he  crossed  into 
Saint  John's  Road,  and  was  soon  deep  in  the  obscu 
rity  of  the  intricate  and  dirty  ways,  which,  lying  be 
tween  Gray's  Inn  Lane  and  Smithfield,  render  that 
part  of  the  town  one  of  the  lowest  and  worst  that 
improvement  has  left  in  the  midst  of  London. 

Through  these  streets  Noah  Claypole  walked,  drag 
ging  Charlotte  after  him ;  now  stepping  into  the  ken 
nel  to  embrace  at  a  glance  the  whole  external  char 
acter  of  some  small  public  -  house,  now  jogging  on 


134 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


again,  as  some  fancied  appearance  induced  him  to 
believe  it  too  public  for  his  purpose.  At  length  he 
stopped  in  front  of  one  more  humble  in  appearance 
and  more  dirty  than  any  he  had  yet  seen ;  and,  hav 
ing  crossed  over  and  surveyed  it  from  the  opposite 
pavement,  graciously  announced  his  intention  of  put 
ting  up  for  the  night. 

"  So  give  us  the  bundle,"  said  Noah,  unstrapping 
it  from  the  woman's  shoulders,  and  slinging  it  over 
his  own,  "  and  don't  yer  speak  except  when  yer 
spoke  to.  What's  the  name  of  the  house — t-h-r — 
three  what  ?" 

"  Cripples,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  Three  Cripples,"  repeated  Noah,  "  and  a  very 
good  sign  too.  Now,  then !  Keep  close  at  my  heels, 
and  come  along."  With  these  injunctions,  he  pushed 
the  rattling  door  with  his  shoulder,  and  entered  the 
house,  followed  by  his  companion. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  bar  but  a  young  Jew, 
who,  with  his  two  elbows  on  the  counter,  was  read 
ing  a  dirty  newspaper.  He  stared  very  hard  at  Noah, 
and  Noah  stared  very  hard  at  him.  r 

If  Noah  had  been  attired  in  his  charity-boy's  dress, 
there  might  have  been  some  reason  for  the  Jew  open 
ing  his  eyes  so  wide;  but  as  he  had  discarded  the  coat 
and  badge,  and  wore  a  short  smock-frock  over  his  leath 
ers,  there  seemed  no  particular  reason  for  his  appear 
ance  exciting  so  much  attention  in  a  public-house. 

"  Is  this  the  Three  Cripples  ?"  asked  Noah. 

"  That  is  the  dabe  of  this  ouse,"  replied  the  Jew. 

"A  gentleman  we  met  on  the  road,  coming  up 
from  the  country,  recommended  us  here,"  said  Noah, 
nudging  Charlotte,  perhaps  to  call  her  attention  to 
this  most  ingenious  device  for  attracting  respect, 
and  perhaps  to  warn  her  to  betray  no  surprise.  "  We 
want  to  sleep  here  to-night." 

"  I'b  dot  certaid  you  cad,"  said  Barney,  who  was  the 
attendant  sprite ;  "  but  I'll  idquire." 

"  Show  us  the  tap,  and  give  us  a  bit  of  cold  meat 
and  a  drop  of  beer  while  yer  inquiring,  will  yer  ?" 
said  Noah. 

Barney  complied  by  ushering  them  into  a  small 
back-room,  and  setting  the  required  viands  before 
them ;  having  done  which,  he  informed  the  travelers 
that  they  could  be  lodged  that  night,  and  left  the 
amiable  couple  to  their  refreshment. 

Now,  this  back-room  was  immediately  behind  the 
bar,  and  some  steps  lower,  so  that  any  person  con 
nected  with  the  house  undrawing  a  small  curtain, 
which  concealed  a  single  pane  of  glass  fixed  in  the 
wall  of  the  last-named  apartment  about  five  feet 
from  its  flooring,  could  not  only  look  down  upon  any 
guests  in  the  back-room  without  any  great  hazard 
of  being  observed  (the  glass  being  in  a  dark  angle  of 
the  wall,  between  which  and  a  large  upright  beam 
the  observer  had  to  thrust  himself),  but  could,  by 
applying  his  ear  to  the  partition,  ascertain  with 
tolerable  distinctness  their  subject  of  conversation. 
The  landlord  of  the  house  hud  not  withdrawn  his 
'•ye  from  this  place  of  espial  for  five  minutes,  and 
Barney  had  only  just  returned  from  making  the  com 
munication  above  related,  when  Fagin,  in  the  course 
of  his  evening's  business,  came  into  the  bar  to  inquire 
after  some  of  his  young  pupils. 

"  Hush !"  said  Barney :  "  stradegers  id  the  next 
roob." 


"  Strangers!"  repeated  the  old  man,  in  a  whisper. 

"Ah!  Ad  rub  uds  too,"  added  Barney.  "Frob 
the  cut-try,  but  subthig  in  your  way,  or  I'b  bistaked.'' 

Fagiu  appeared  to  receive  this  communication  with 
great  interest.  Mounting  a  stool,  he  cautiously  ap 
plied  his  eye  to  the  pane  of  glass,  from  which  secret 
post  he  could  see  Mr.  Claypole  taking  cold  beef  from 
the  dish  and  porter  from  the  pot,  and  administering 
homeopathic  doses  of  both  to  Charlotte,  who  sat  pa 
tiently  by,  eating  and  drinking  at  his  pleasure. 

"Aha!"  he  whispered,  looking  round  to  Barney, 
"  I  like  that  fellow's  looks.  He'd  be  of  use  to  us ; 
he  knows  how  to  train  the  girl  already.  Don't  make 
as  much  noise  as  a  mouse,  my  dear,  and  let  me  hear 
'em  talk — let  me  hear  'em." 

He  again  applied  his  eye  to  the  glass,  and  turning 
his  ear  to  the  partition,  listened  attentively,  with  a 
subtle  and  eager  look  upon  his  face  that  might  have 
appertained  to  some  old  goblin. 

"  So  I  mean  to  be  a  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Claypole, 
kicking  out  his  legs,  and  continuing  a  conversation 
the  commencement  of  which  Fagiu  had  arrived  too 
late  to  hear.  "  No  more  jolly  old  coffins,  Charlotte, 
but  a  gentleman's  life  for  me ;  and,  if  yer  like,  yer 
shall  be  a  lady." 

"I  should  like  that  well  enough,  dear,"  replied 
Charlotte  ;  "  but  tills  ain't  to  be  emptied  every  day,. 
and  people  to  get  clear  off  after  it." 

"Tills  be  blowed!"  said  Mr.  Claypole;  "there's 
more  things  besides  tills  to  be  emptied." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  his  companion. 

"  Pockets,  women's  ridicules,  houses,  mail-coaches, 
banks !"  said  Mr.  Claypole,  rising  with  the  porter. 

"  But  you  can't  do  all  that,  dear,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  I  shall  look  out  to  get  into  company  with  them 
as  can,"  replied  Noah.  "  They'll  be  able  to  make  us 
useful  someway  or  another.  Why,  you  yourself  are 
worth  fifty  women  ;  I  never  see  siich  a  precious  sly 
and  deceitful  creetur  as  yer  can  be  when  I  let  yer." 

"  Lor,  how  nice  it  is  to  hear  you  say  so !"  exclaim 
ed  Charlotte,  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  his  ugly  face. 

"  There,  that'll  do ;  don't  yer  be  too  affectionate, 
in  case  I'm  cross  with  yer,"  said  Noah,  disengaging 
himself  with  great  gravity.  "  I  should  like  to  be 
the  captain  of  some  band,  and  have  the  whopping 
of  'em,  and  follering  'em  about,  unbeknown  to  them 
selves.  That  would  suit  me,  if  there  was  good  prof 
it;  and  if  we  could  only  get  in  with  some  gentle 
men  of  this  sort,  I  say  it  would  be  cheap  at  that 
twenty-pound  note  you've  got — especially  as  we 
don't  very  well  know  how  to  get  rid  of  it  our 
selves." 

After  expressing  this  opinion,  Mr.  Claypole  look 
ed  into  the  porter-pot  with  an  aspect  of  deep  wis 
dom  ;  and  having  well  shaken  its  contents,  nodded 
condescendingly  to  Charlotte,  and  took  a  draught, 
wherewith  he  appeared  greatly  refreshed.  He  was 
meditating  another,  when  the  sudden  opening  of  t In 
door  and  the  appearance  of  a  stranger  interrupted 
him. 

The  stranger  was  Mr.  Fagin.     And  very  amiable 
he  looked,  and  a  very  low  bow  he  made  as  he  ad 
vanced,  and.  setting  himself  down  at  the  nearest  ta-  • 
ble,  ordered  something  to  drink  of  the  grinning  Bar 
ney. 

"A  pleasant  night,  sir,  but  cool  for  the  time  of 


OPENING  PRESENTS  ITSELF. 


135 


year,"  said  Fagin,  rubbing  his  bands.     "  From  the 
country,  I  see,  sir  ?" 

"  How  do  yer  see  that  ?"  asked  Noah  Claypole. 

"  We  have  not  so  much  dust  as  that  in  London," 
replied  Fagin,  pointing  from  Noah's  shoes  to  those 
of  his  companion,  and  from  them  to  the  two  bundles. 

"Yer  a  sharp  feller,"  said  Noah.  "Ha!  ha!  only 
hear  that,  Charlotte!" 

"  Why,  one  need  be  sharp  in  this  town,  my  dear," 
replied  the  Jew,  sinking  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
whisper;  "and  that's- the  truth." 

Fagin  followed  up  this  remark  by  striking  the 
side  of  his  nose  with  his  right  forefinger — a  gesture 
which  Noah  attempted  to  imitate,  though  not  with 
complete  success,  in  consequence  of  his  own  nose  not 
being  large  enough  for  the  purpose.  However,  Mr. 
Fagiu  seemed  to  interpret  the  endeavor  as  express 
ing  a  perfect  coincidence  with  his  opinion,  and  put 
about  the  liquor  which  Barney  re-appeared  with  in 
a  very  friendly  manner. 

"  Good  stuff  that,"  observed  Mr.  Claypole,  smack 
ing  his  lips. 

"Dear!"  said  Fagin.  "A  man  need  be  always 
emptying  a  till,  or  a  pocket,  or  a  woman's  reticule, 
or  a  house,  or  a  mail-coach,  or  a  bank,  if  he  drinks  it 
regularly." 

Mr.  Claypole  no  sooner  heard  this  extract  from  his 
own  remarks  than  he  fell  back  in  his  chair,  and 
looked  from  the  Jew  to  Charlotte  with  a  counte 
nance  of  ashy  paleness  and  excessive  terror. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  my  dear,"  said  Fagin,  drawing 
his  chair  closer.  "  Ha !  ha !  it  was  lucky  it  was  only 
me  that  heard  you  by  chance.  It  was  very  lucky  it 
was  only  me." 

"I  didn't  take  it,"  stammered  Noah,  no  longer 
stretching  out  his  legs  like  an  independent  gentle 
man,  but  coiling  them  up  as  well  as  he  could  under 
his  chair ;  "  it  was  all  her  doing ;  yerVe  got  it  now, 
Charlotte,  yer  know  yer  have." 

"  No  matter  who's  got  it,  or  who  did  it,  my  dear!" 
replied  Fagin,  glancing,  nevertheless,  with  a  hawk's 
eye  at  the  girl  and  the  two  bundles.  "  I'm  in  that 
way  myself,  and  I  like  you  for  it." 

"  In  what  way  ?"  asked  Mr.  Claypole,  a  little  re 
covering. 

"  In  that  way  of  business,"  rejoined  Fagin;  "and 
so  are  the  people  of  the  house.  You've  hit  the  right 
nail  upon  the  head,  and  are  as  safe  here  as  you  could 
be.  There  is  not  a  safer  place  in  all  this  town  than 
is  The  Cripples — that  is,  when  I  like  to  make  it  so. 
And  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  you  and  the  young 
woman ;  so  I've  said  the  word,  and  you  may  make 
your  minds  easy." 

Noah  Claypole's  mind  might  have  been  at  ease  af 
ter  this  assurance,  but  his  body  certainly  was  not ; 
for  he  shuffled  and  writhed  about  into  various  un 
couth  positions,  eying  his  new  friend  meanwhile 
with  mingled  fear  and  suspicion. 

"  I'll  tell  you  more,"  said  Fagin,  after  he  had  reas-' 
sured  the  girl  by  dint  of  friendly  nods  and  muttered 
encouragements.  "  I  have  got  a  friend  that  I  think  ; 
can  gratify  your  darling  wish,  and  put  you  in  the 
right  way,  where  you  can  take  whatever  department 
of  the  business  you  think  will  suit  you  best  at  first, 
and  be  taught  all  the  others." 

"  Yer  speak  as  if  yer  were  iu  earnest,"  replied  Noah. 


"What  advantage  would  it  be  to  me  to  be  any 
thing  else  ?"•  inquired  Fagin,  shrugging  his  shoul 
ders.  "  Here !  Let  me  have  a  word  with  you  out 
side." 

"  There's  no  occasion  to  trouble  ourselves  to 
move,"  said  Noah,  getting  his  legs  by  gradual  degrees 
abroad  again.  "  She'll  take  the  luggage  up  stairs 
the  while.  Charlotte,  see  to  them  bundles !" 

This  mandate,  which  had  been  delivered  with 
great  majesty,  was  obeyed  without  the  slightest  de 
mur  ;  and  Charlotte  made  the  best  of  her  way  off 
with  the  packages  while  Noah  held  the  door  open 
and  watched  her  out. 

"  She's  kept  tolerably  well  under,  ain't  she  ?"  he 
asked,  as  he  resumed  his  seat,  in  the  tone  of  a  keeper 
who  has  tamed  some  wild  animal. 

"  Quite  perfect,"  rejoined  Fagin,  clapping  him  on 
the  shoulder.  "  You're  a  genius,  my  dear." 

"Why,  I  suppose  if  I  wasn't  I  shouldn't  be  here," 
replied  Noah.  .  "  But,  I  say,  she'll  be  back  if  yer  lose 
time." 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  ?"  said  Fagin.  "  If  you 
was  to  like  my  friend,  could  you  do  better  than  join 
him  ?" 

"  Is  he  in  a  good  way  of  business ;  that's  where  it 
is!"  responded  Noah,  winking  one  of  his  little  eyes. 

"  The  top  of  the  tree ;  employs  a  power  of  hands ; 
has  the  very  best  society  iu  the  profession." 

"  Eegular  town-maders  ?"  asked  Mr.  Claypole. 

"  Not  a  countryman  among  'em ;  and  I  don't  think 
he'd  take  you,  even  on  my  recommendation,  if  he 
didn't  run  rather  short  of  assistants  just  now,"  re 
plied  Fagin. 

"  Should  I  have  to  hand  over  ?"  said  Noah,  slapping 
his  breeches-pocket. 

"It  couldn't  possibly  be  done  without,"  replied 
Fagin,  in  a  most  decided  manner. 

"  Twenty  pound,  though — it's  a  lot  of  money !" 

"  Not  when  it's  in  a  note  you  can't  get  rid  of,"  re 
torted  Fagiu.  "  Number  and  date  taken,  I  suppose  ? 
Payment  stopped  at  the  bank?  •  Ah!  It's  not  worth 
much  to  him.  It'll  have  to  go  abroad,  and  he 
couldn't  sell  it  for  a  great  deal  in  the  market." 

"  When  could  I  see  him  ?"  asked  Noah,  doubtfully. 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

"  Where  ?" 

"Here?" 

"  Urn !"  said  Noah.     "  What's  the  wages  ?" 

"  Live  like  a  gentleman — board  and  lodging,  pipes 
and  spirits  free — half  of  all  you  earn,  and  half  of  all 
the  young  woman  earns,"  replied  Mr.  Fagiu. 

Whether  Noah  Claypole,  whose  rapacity  was  none 
of  the  least  comprehensive,  would  have  acceded 
even  to  these  glowing  terms,  had  he  been  a  perfectly 
free  agent,  is  very  doubtful;  but  as  he  recollected 
that,  iu  the  event  of  his  refusal,  it  was  in  the  power 
of  his  new  acquaintance  to  give  him  up  to  justice 
immediately  (and  more  unlikely  things  had  come  to 
pass),  he  gradually  relented,  and  said  he  thought 
that  would  suit  him. 

"  But,  yer  see,"  observed  Noah,  "  as  she  will  be 
able  to  do  a  good  deal,  I  should  like  to  take  some 
thing  very  light." 

"A  little  fancy  work  ?''  suggested  Fagin. 

"Ah!  something  of  that  sort,"  replied  Noah. 
"  What  do  you  think  would  suit  me,  now  ?  Some- 


136 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


thing  not  too  trying  for  the  strength,  and  not  very 
dangerous,  you  know.  That's  the  sort  .of  thing !" 

"  I  heard  you  talk  of  something  in  the  spy  way 
upon  the  others,  my  dear,"  said  Fagiii.  "  My  friend 
wants  somebody  who  would  do  that  well,  very 
much." 

"  Why,  I  did  mention  that,  and  I  shouldn't  mind 
turning  my  hand  to  it  sometimes,"  rejoined  Mr.  Clay- 
pole,  slowly;  "but  it  wouldn't  pay  by  itself,  you 
know." 

"  That's  true !"  observed  the  Jew,  ruminating,  or 
pretending  to  ruminate.  "  No,  it  might  not." 

"  What  do  you  think,  then  ?"  asked  Noah,  anxious 
ly  regarding  him.  "  Something  in  the  sneaking  way, 
where  it  was  pretty  sure  work,  and  not  much  more 
risk  than  being  at  home." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  old  ladies  ?"  asked  Fa- 
gin.  "  There's  a  good  deal  of  money  made  in  snatch 
ing  their  bags  and  parcels  and  running  round  the 
corner." 

"  Don't  they  holler  out  a  good  deal,  and  scratch 
sometimes?"  asked  Noah,  shaking  his  head.  "I 
don't  think  that  would  answer  my  purpose.  Ain't 
there  any  other  line  open  ?" 

"  Stop !"  said  Fagiu,  laying  his  hand  on  Noah's 
knee.  "  The  kinchin  lay." 

"  What's  that  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Claypole. 

"  The  kinchins,  my  dear,"  said  Fagin,  "  is  the 
young  children  that's  sent  on  errands  by  their  moth 
ers  with  sixpences  and  shillings ;  and  the  lay  is  just 
to  take  their  money  away — they've  always  got  it 
ready  in  their  hands — then  knock  'em  into  the  ken 
nel,  and  walk  off  very  slow,  as  if  there  were  nothing 
else  the  matter  but  a  child  fallen  down  and  hurt  it 
self.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Ha!  ha!"  roared  Mr.  Claypole,  kicking  up  his 
legs  in  an  ecstasy.  "  Lord,  that's  the  very  thing !" 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  replied  Fagin ;  "  and  you  can 
have  a  few  good  beats  chalked  out  in  Camden  Town, 
and  Battle  Bridge,  and  neighborhoods  like  that,  where 
they're  always  going  errands ;  and  you  can  upset  as 
manv  kinchins  as  you  want,  any  hour  in  the  day. 
Hafha!  ha!" 

With  this,  Fagin  poked  Mr.  Claypole  in  the  side, 
and  they  joined  in  a  burst  of  laughter  both  long  and 
loud. 

"  Well,  that's  all  right !"  said  Noah,  when  he  had 
recovered  himself,  and  Charlotte  had  returned. 
"  What  time  to-morrow  shall  we  say  ?" 

"  Will  ten  do  ?"  asked  Fagin,  adding,  as  Mr.  Clay- 
pole  nodded  assent,  "What  name  shall  I  tell  my 
good  friend  ?" 

"  Mr.  Bolter,"  replied  Noah,  who  had  prepared  him 
self  for  such  an  emergency.  "  Mr.  Morris  Bolter. 
This  is  Mrs.  Bolter." 

"  Mrs.  Bolter's  humble  servant,"  said  Fagiu,  bow 
ing  with  grotesque  politeness.  "  I  hope  I  shall  know 
her  better  very  shortly." 

"  Do  you  hear  the  gentleman,  Charlotte  ?"  thun 
dered  Mr.  Claypole. 

"  Yes,  Noah  dear !"  responded  Mrs.  Bolter,  extend 
ing  her  hand. 

"  She  calls  me  Noah,  as  a  sort  of  fond  way  of  talk 
ing,"  said  Mr.  Morris  Bolter,  late  Claypole,  turning 
to  Fagin.  "  You  understand?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  understand — perfectly,"  replied  Fagin, 


telling  the  truth  for  once.     "Good -night!     Good 
night  !" 

With  many  adieus  and  good  wishes,  Mr.  Fagin 
went  his  way.  Noah  Claypole,  bespeaking  his  good 
lady's  attention,  proceeded  to  enlighten  her  relative 
to  the  arrangement  he  had  made  with  all  that  haugh 
tiness  and  air  of  superiority  becoming,  not  only  a 
member  of  the  sterner  sex,  but  a  gentleman  who  ap 
preciated  the  dignity  of  a  special  appointment  on  the 
kinchin  lay  in  London  and  its  vicinity. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

WHEREIN  IS  SHOWN  HOW  THE  ARTFUL  DODGER   GOT 
INTO  TROUBLE. 

"  4  ND  so  it  was  you  that  was  your  own  friend, 
J_A_  was  it  ?"  asked  Mr.  Claypole,  otherwise  Bolter, 
when,  by  virtue  of  the  compact  entered  into  between 
them,  he  had  removed  next  day  to  Fagiu's  house, 
"  'Cod,  I  thought  as  much  last  night !" 

"  Every  man's  his  own  friend,  rny  dear,"  replied 
Fagin,  with  his  most  insinuating  grin.  "  He  hasn't 
as  good  an  one  as  himself  anywhere." 

"  Except  sometimes,"  replied  Morris  Bolter,  assum 
ing  the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world.  "  Some  people 
are  nobody's  enemies  but  their  own,  yer  know." 

"  Don't  believe  that,"  said  Fagin.  "  When  a  man's 
his  own  enemy,  it's  only  because  he's  too  much  his 
own  friend  ;  not  because  he's  careful  for  every  body 
but  himself.  Pooh!  pooh!  There  ain't  such  a 
thing  in  nature." 

"  There  oughtn't  to  be,  if  there  is,"  replied  Mr. 
Bolter. 

"  That  stands  to  reason.  Some  conjurers  say  that 
number  three  is  the  magic  number,  and  some  say 
number  seven.  It's  neither,  my  friend,  neither.  It's 
number  one." 

"  Ha !  ha !"  cried  Mr.  Bolter.  "  Number  one  for 
ever  !" 

"  In  a  little  community  like  ours,  my  dear,"  said 
Fagin,  who  felt  it  necessary  to  qualify  this  position, 
"  we  have  a  general  number  one ;  that  is,  you  can't 
consider  yourself  as  number  one,  without  consider 
ing  me  too  as  the  same,  and  all  the  other  young  peo 
ple." 

"  Oh,  the  devil !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bolter. 

"  You  see,"  pursued  Fagin,  affecting  to  disregard 
this  interruption, "  we  are  so  mixed  up  together,  and 
identified  in  our  interests,  that  it  must  be  so.  For 
instance,  it's  your  object  to  take  care  of  number  one 
— meaning  yourself." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Bolter.  "  Yer  about  right 
there." 

"  Well !  You  can't  take  care  of  yourself,  number 
one,  without  taking  care  of  me,  number  one." 

"Number  two,  you  mean,"  said  Mr.  Bolter,  who 
was  largely  endowed  with  the  quality  of  selfishness. 

,"  No,  I  don't !"  retorted  Fagin.  "  I'm  of  the  same 
importance  to  you,  as  you  are  to  yourself." 

"  I  say,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bolter,  "  yer  a  very  nice 
man,  and  I'm  very  fond  of  yer ;  but  we  ain't  quite 
so  thick  together  as  all  that  comes  to." 

"  Only  think,"  said  Fagin,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
and  stretching  out  his  hands, "  only  consider.  You've 


THE  POST  OF  HONOR  IS  A  NEWGATE  STATION. 


137 


doiie  what's  a  very  pretty  thing,  and  what  I  love  you 
for  doing ;  but  what  at  the  same  time  would  put  the 
cravat  round  your  throat,  that's  so  very  easily  tied 
and  so  very  difficult  to  unloose — in  plain  English, 
the  halter!" 

Mr.  Bolter  put  his  hand  to  his  neckerchief,  as  if  he 
felt  it  inconveniently  tight,  and  murmured  an  assent, 
qualified  in  tone  but  not  in  substance. 

"  The  gallows,"  continued  Fagin, "  the  gallows,  my 
dear,  is  an  ugly  finger-post,  which  points  out  a  very 
short  and  sharp  turning  that  has  stopped  many  a 
bold  fellow's  career  on  the  broad  highway.  To  keep 
in  the  easy  road,  and  keep  it  at  a  distance,  is  object 
number  one  with  you." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  replied  Mr.  Bolter.  "  What  do 
yer  talk  about  such  things  for  ?" 

"  Only  to  show  you  my  meaning  clearly,"  said  the 
Jew,  raising  his  eyebrows.  "  To  be  able  to  do  that, 
you  depend  upon  me.  To  keep  my  little  business  all 
snug,  I  depend  upon  you.  The  first  is  your  number 
one,  the  second  my  number  one.  The  more  you  value 
your  number  one,  the  more  careful  you  must  be  of 
mine ;  so  we  come  at  last  to  what  I  told  you  at  first 
— that  a  regard  for  number  one-holds  us  all  together, 
and  must  do  so,  unless  we  would  all  go  to  pieces  in 
company." 

"  That's  true,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bolter,  thoughtfully. 
"  Oh !  yer  a  cunning  old  codger." 

Mr.  Fagin  saw,  with  delight,  that  this  tribute  to 
his  powers  was  no  mere  compliment,  but  that  he  had 
really  impressed  his  recruit  with  a  sense  of  his  wily 
genius,  which  it  was  most  important  that  he  should 
entertain  in  the  outset  of  their  acquaintance.  To 
strengthen  an  impression  so  desirable  and  useful,  he 
followed  up  the  blow  by  acquainting  him,  in  some 
detail,  with  the  magnitude  and  extent  of  his  opera 
tions,  blending  truth  and  fiction  together,  as  best 
served  his  purpose,  and  bringing  both  to  bear  with 
so  much  art  that  Mr.  Bolter's  respect  visibly  in 
creased,  and  became  tempered,  at  the  same  time, 
with  a  degree  of  wholesome  fear  which  it  was  high 
ly  desirable  to  awaken. 

"  It's  this  nmtual  trust  we  have  in  each  other 
that  consoles  me  under  heavy  losses,"  said  Fagin. 
;'  My  best  hand  was  taken  from  me  yesterday  morn 
ing." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  he  died?"  cried  Mr. 
Bolter. 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Fagin,  "  not  so  bad  as  that. 
Not  quite  so  bad." 

"  What ;  I  suppose  he  was — : 

"  Wanted,"  interposed  Fagin.  "  Yes,  he  was  want 
ed." 

"  Yery  particular  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Bolter. 

"  No,"  replied  Fagin,  "  not  very.  He  was  charged 
with  attempting  to  pick  a  pocket,  and  they  found  a 
silver  snuff-box  on  him — his  own,  my  dear,  his  own, 
for  he  took  snuff  himself,  and  was  very  fond  of  it. 
They  remanded  him  till  to-day,  for  they  thought 
they  knew  the  owner.  Ah!  he  was  worth  lifry 
boxes,  and  I'd  give  the  price  of  as  many  to  have  him 
back.  You  should  have  known  the  Dodger,  my 
dear  ;  you  should  have  known  the  Dodger." 

"  Well,  but  I  shall  know  him,  I  hope ;  don't  yer 
think  so  f '  said  Mr.  Bolter. 

"  I'm  doubtful  about  it,"  replied  Fagin,  with  a  sigh. 


"  If  they  don't  get  any  fresh  evidence,  it'll  only  be  a 
summary  conviction,  and  we  shall  have  him  back 
again  after  six  weeks  or  so ;  but  if  they  do,  it's  a  case 
of  lagging.  They  know  what  a  clever  lad  he  is,  he'll 
be  a  lifer.  They'll  make  the  Artful  nothing  less  than 
a  lifer." 

"  What  do  yer  mean  by  lagging  and  a  lifer  ?"  de 
manded  Mr.  Bolter.  "  What's  the  good  of  talking 
in  that  way  to  me ;  why  don't  yer  speak  so  as  I  can 
understand  yer  ?" 

Fagin  was  about  to  translate  these  mysterious  ex 
pressions  into  the  vulgar  tongue ;  and,  being  inter 
preted,  Mr.  Bolter  would  have  been  informed  that 
they  represented  that  combination  of  words,  "  trans 
portation  for  life,"  when  the  dialogue  was  cut  short 
by  the  entry  of  Master  Bates,  with  his  hands  in  his 
breeches-pockets,  and  his  face  twisted  into  a  lock  of 
semi-comical  woe. 

"  It's  all  up,  Fagin,"  said  Charley,  when  he  and  his 
new  companion  had  been  made  known  to  each  other. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  They've  found  the  gentleman  as  owns  the  box ; 
two  or  three  more's  a-coming  to  'dentify  him ;  and 
the  Artful's  booked  for  a  passage  out,"  replied  Master 
Bates.  "  I  must  have  a  full  suit  of  mourning,  Fagin, 
and  a  hat-band,  to  wisit  him  in  afore  he  sets  out 
upon  his  travels.  To  think  of  Jack  Dawkins — lum 
my  Jack — the  Dodger — the  Artful  Dodger — going 
abroad  for  a  common  twopenuy-half-penny  sneeze- 
box  !  I  never  thought  he'd  a  done  it  under  a  gold 
watch,  chain,  and  seals,  at  the  lowest.  Oh,  why 
didn't  he  rob  some  rich  old  gentleman  of  all  his  wal- 
ables,  and  go  out  as  a  gentleman,  and  not  like  a  com 
mon  prig,  without  no  honor  nor  glory !" 

With  this  expression  of  feeling  for  his  unfortunate 
friend,  Master  Bates  sat  himself  on  the  nearest  chair 
with  an  aspect  of  chagrin  and  despondency. 

"  What  do  you  talk  about  his  having  neither  hon 
or  nor  glory  for !"  exclaimed  Fagin,  darting  an  angry 
look  at  his  pupil.  "Wasn't  he  always  top-sawyer 
among  you  all  ?  Is  there  one  of  you  that  could  touch 
him  or  come  near  him  on  any  scent !  Eh  ?" 

"  Not  one,"  replied  Master  Bates,  in  a  voice  render 
ed  husky  by  regret ;  "  not  one." 

"  Then  what  do  you  talk  of?"  replied  Fagin,  angri 
ly  ;  "  what  are  you  blubbering  for  ?" 

"  'Cause  it  isn't  on  the  rec-ord,  is  it  ?"  said  Charley, 
chafed  into  perfect  defiance  of  his  venerable  friend 
by  the  current  of  his  regrets ;  "  'cause  it  can't  come 
out  in  the  'dictment ;  'cause  nobody  will  never  know 
half  of  what  he  was.  How  will  he  stand  in  the  New 
gate  Calendar  ?  P'raps  not  be  there  at  all.  Oh,  my 
eye,  my  eye,  wot  a  blow  it  is !" 

"  Ha !  ha !"  cried  Fagiu,  extending  his  right  hand, 
and  turning  to  Mr.  Bolter  in  a  fit  of  chuckling  which 
shook  him  as  though  he  had  the  palsy ;  "  see  what  a 
pride  they  take  in  their  profession,  my  dear.  Ain't 
it  beautiful  ?" 

Mr.  Bolter  nodded  assent;  and  Fagin,  after  con 
templating  the  grief  of  Charley  Bates  for  some  sec 
onds  with  evident  satisfaction,  stepped  up  to  that 
young  gentleman  and  patted  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Never  mind,  Charley,"  said  Fagin,  soothingly; 
"  it'll  come  out,  it'll  be  sure  to  come  out.  They'll  all 
know  what  a  clever  fellow  he  was ;  he'll  show  it  him 
self,  and  not  disgrace  his  old  pals  and  teachers.  Think 


138 


OLIVER  TWIST. 


how  young  he  is  too !  What  a  distinction,  Charley, 
to  be  lagged  at  his  time  of  life !" 

"  Well,  it  is  a  honor,  that  is !"  said  Charley,  a  little 
consoled. 

"  He  shall  have  all  he  wants,"  continued  the  Jew. 
"He  shall  be  kept  in  the  Stone  Jug,  Charley,  like  a 
gentleman.  Like  a  gentleman !  With  his  beer  ev 
ery  day,  and  money  in  his  pocket  to  pitch  and  toss 
with,  if  he  can't  spend  it." 

"No,  shall  he,  though  ?"  cried  Charley  Bates. 

"Ay,  that  he  shall,"  replied  Fagin,  "  and  we'll  have 
a  big- wig,  Charley — one  that's  got  the  greatest  gift 
of  the  gab — to  carry  on  his  defense ;  and  he  shall 
make  a  speech  for  himself  too,  if  he  likes ;  and  we'll 
road  it  all  in  the  papers — 'Artful  Dodger — shrieks 
of  laughter — here  the  court  was  convulsed' — eh, 
Charley,  eh  ?" 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Master  Bates,  "what  a  lark 
that  would  be,  wouldn't  it,  Fagin  ?  I  say,  how  the 
Artful  would  bother  ?em,  wouldn't  he  ?" 

"  Would !"  cried  Fagin.     "  He  shall— he  will !" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  so  he  will,"  repeated  Charley,  rub 
bing  his  hands. 

"  I  think  I  see  him  now !"  cried  the  Jew,  bending 
his  eyes  upon  his  pupil. 

"So  do  I!"  cried  Charley  Bates.  "Ha!  ha!  ha! 
so  do  I !  I  see  it  all  afore  me,  upon  my  soul  I  do,  Fa- 
gin.  What  a  game !  What  a  regular  game !  All 
the  big-wigs  trying  to  look  solemn,  and  Jack  Daw- 
kins  addressing  of  'em  as  intimate  and  comfortable 
as  if  he  was  the  judge's  own  son  making  a  speech  ar- 
ter  dinner — ha !  ha !  ha !" 

In  fact,  Mr.  Fagin  had  so  well  humored  his  young 
friend's  eccentric  disposition,  that  Master  Bates,  who 
had  at  first  been  disposed  to  consider  the  imprisoned 
Dodger  rather  in  the  light  of  a  victim,  now  looked 
upon  him  as  the  chief  actor  in  a  scene  of  most  un 
common  and  exquisite  humor,  and  felt  quite  impa 
tient  for  the  arrival  of  the  time  when  his  old  com 
panion  should  have  so  favorable  an  opportunity  of 
displaying  his  abilities. 

"  We  must  know  how  he  gets  on  to-day,  by  some 
handy  means  or  other,"  said  Fagin.  "  Let  me  think." 

"  Shall  I  go  ?"  asked  Charley. 

"Not  for  the  world,"  replied  Fagin.  "Are  you 
mad,  my  dear,  stark  mad,  that  you'd  walk  into  the 
very  place  where —  No,  Charley,  no.  One  is  enough 
to  lose  at  a  time." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  go  yourself,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
Charley,  with  a  humorous  leer. 

"  That  wouldn't  quite  fit,"  replied  Fagin,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  send  this  new  cove  ?"  asked 
Master  Bates,  laying  his  hand  on  Noah's  arm.  "  No 
body  knows  him." 

"  Why,  if  he  didn't  mind—"  observed  Fagin. 

"  Mind  !"  interposed  Charley.  "  What  should  lie 
have  to  mind  ?" 

"  Really  nothing,  my  dear,"  said  Fagin,  turning  to 
Mr.  Bolter,  "  really  nothing." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  about  that,  yer  know,''  observed 
Noah,  backing  toward  the  door,  and  shaking  his 
head  with  a  kind  of  sober  alarm.  "No,  no — none 
of  that.  It's  not  in  my  department,  that  ain't." 

"Wot  department  has  he  got,  Fagiu?"  inquired 
Master  Bates,  surveying  Noah's  lank  form  with  much 


disgust.  "  The  cutting  away  when  there's  any  thing 
wrong,  and  the  eating  all  the  wittles  when  there's 
every  thing  right ;  is  that  his  branch  f ' 

"  Never  mind,"  retorted  Mr.  Bolter ;  "  and  don't 
yer  take  liberties  with  yer  superiors,  little  boy,  or 
yer'll  find  yerself  in  the  wrong  shop." 

Master  Bates  laughed  so  vehemently  at  this  mag 
nificent  threat,  that  it  was  some  time  before  Fagiu 
could  interpose,  and  represent  to  Mr.  Bolter  that  he 
incurred  no  possible  danger  in  visiting  the  police-of 
fice  ;  that,  inasmuch  as  no  account  of  the  little  affair 
in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  nor  any  description 
of  his  person,  had  yet  been  forwarded  to  the  metrop 
olis,  it  was  very  probable  that  he  was  not  even  sus 
pected  of  having  resorted  to  it  for  shelter ;  and  that 
if  he  were  properly  disguised,  it  would  be  as  safe  a 
spot  for  him  to  visit  as  any  in  London,  inasmuch  as 
it  would  be,  of  all  places,  the  very  last  to  which  he 
could  be  supposed  likely  to  resort  of  his  own  free 
wiU. 

Persuaded  in  part  by  these  representations,  biit 
overborne  in  a  much  greater  degree  by  his  fear  of 
Fagin,  Mr.  Bolter  at  length  consented,  with  a  very 
bad  grace,  to  undertake  the  expedition.  By  Fagin's 
directions,  he  immediately  substituted  for  his  own 
attire  a  wagoner's  frock,  velveteen  breeches,  and 
leather  leggings,  all  of  which  articles  the  Jew  had 
at  hand.  He  was  likewise  furnished  with  a  felt  hat 
well  garnished  with  turnpike  tickets,  and  a  carter's 
whip.  Thus  equipped,  he  was  to  saunter  into  the 
office,  as  some  country  fellow  from  Covent  Garden 
market  might  be  supposed  to  do  for  the  gratification 
of  his  curiosity ;  and  as  he  was  as  awkward,  ungain 
ly,  and  raw-boned  a  fellow  as  need  be,  Mr.  Fagiu  had 
no  fear  but  that  he  would  look  the  part  to  perfection. 

These  arrangements  completed,  he  was  informed 
of  the  necessary  signs  and  tokens  by  which  to  recog 
nize  the  Artful  Dodger,  and  was  conveyed  by  Master 
Bates  through  dark  and  winding  ways  to  within  a 
very  short  distance  of  Bow  Street.  Having  described 
the  precise  situation  of  the  office,  and  accompanied 
it  with  copious  directions  how  he  was  to  walk  straight 
up  the  passage,  and  when  he  got  into  the  yard  take 
the  door  up  the  steps  on  the  right-hand  side,  and 
pull  off  his  hat  as  he  went  into  the  room,  Charley 
Bates  bade  him  hurry  on  alone,  and  promised  to  bide 
his  return  on  the  spot  of  their  parting. 

Noah  Claypole,  or  Morris  Bolter,  as  the  reader 
pleases,  punctually  followed  the  directions  he  had 
received,  which — Master  Bates  being  pretty  well  ac 
quainted  with  the  locality — were  so  exact  that  he 
was  enabled  to  gain  the  magisterial  presence  with 
out  asking  any  question,  or  meeting  with  any  inter 
ruption  by  the  way.  He  found  himself  jostled  ajnoug 
a  crowd  of  people,  chiefly  women,  who  were  huddled 
together  in  a  dirty,  frowsy  room,  at  the  upper  end  of 
which  was  a  raised  platform  railed  off  from  the  rest, 
with  a  dock  for  the  prisoners  on  the  left  hand  against 
the  wall,  a  box  for  the  witnesses  in  the  middle,  and 
a  desk  for  the  magistrates  on  the  right ;  the  awful 
locality  last  named  being  screened  off  by  a  partition 
which  concealed  the  bench  from  the  common  gaze, 
and  left  the  vulgar  to  imagine  (if  they  could)  the 
full  majesty  of  justice. 

There  were  only  a  couple  of  women  in  the  dock, 
who  were  nodding  to  their  admiring  friends,  Avhile 


MR.  BOLTER  DISGUISED. 


139 


the  clerk  read  some  depositions  to  a  couple  of  police 
men  and  a  man  iu  plain  clothes  who  leaned  over  the 
table.  A  jailer  stood  reclining  against  the  dock-rail, 
tapping  his  nose  listlessly  with  a  large  key,  except 
when  he  repressed  an  undue  tendency  to  conversa 
tion  among  the  idlers  by  proclaiming  silence,  or  look 
ed  sternly  up  to  bid  some  woman  "  Take  that  baby 
out,"  when  the  gravity  of  justice  was  disturbed  by 
feeble  cries,  half-smothered  in  the  mother's  shawl, 
from  some  meagre  infant.  The  room  smelled  close 
and  unwholesome ;  the  walls  were  dirt-discolored, 
and  the  ceiling  blackened.  There  was  an  old  smoky 
bust  over  the  mantel-shelf,  and  a  dusty  clock  above 
the  dock — the  only  thing  present  that  seemed  to  go 
on  as  it  ought ;  for  depravity,  or  poverty,  or  an  ha 
bitual  acquaintance  with  both,  had  left  a  taint  on  all 
the  animate  matter,  hardly  less  unpleasant  than  the 
thick,  greasy  scum  on  every  inanimate  object  that 
frowned  upon  it. 

Noah  looked  eagerly  about  him  for  the  Dodger; 
but  although  there  were  several  women  who  would 
have  done  very  well  for  that  distinguished  charac 
ter's  mother  or  sister,  and  more  than  one  man  who 
might  be  supposed  to  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to 
his  father,  nobody  at  all  answering  the  description 
given  him  of  Mr.  Dawkius  was  to  be  seen.  He  wait 
ed  in  a  state  of  much  suspense  and  uncertainty  until 
the  women,  being  committed  for  trial,  went  flaunt 
ing  out,  and  then  was  quickly  relieved  by  the  ap 
pearance  of  another  prisoner  who  he  felt  at  once 
could  be  no  other  than  the  object  of  his  visit. 

It  was  indeed  Mr.  Dawkins,  who,  shuffling  into  the 
office  with  the  big  coat  sleeves  tucked  up  as  usual, 
his  left  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  his  hat  in  his  right 
hand,  preceded  the  jailer  with  a  rolling  gait  alto 
gether  indescribable,  and,  taking  his  place  in  the 
dock,  requested,  in  an  audible  voice,  to  know  what 
he  was  placed  in  that  'ere  disgraceful  sitivation  for. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  will  you  ?"  said  the  jailer. 

"  I'm  an  Englishman,  ain't  I  ?"  rejoined  the  Dodger. 
"  Where  are  my  priwileges  ?" 

"  You'll  get  your  privileges  soon  enough,"  retorted 
the  jailer,  "  and  pepper  with  'em." 

"  We'll  see  wot  the  Secretary  of  State  for  the 
Home  Affairs  has  got  to  say  to  the  beaks,  if  I  don't," 
replied  Mr.  Dawkins.  "  Now  then !  wot  is  this  here 
business  ?  I  shall  thank  the  madg'strates  to  dispose 
of  this  here  little  affair,  and  not  to  keep  me  while 
they  read  the  paper,  for  I've  got  an  appointment 
with  a  genelman  iu  the  City ;  and  as  I'm  a  man  of 
my  word,  and  wery  punctual  in  business  matters, 
he'll  go  away  if  I  ain't  there  to  my  time,  and  then 
pr'aps  there  won't  be  an  action  for  damage  against 
them  as  kep  me  away.  Oh  no,  certainly  not !" 

At  this  point,  the  Dodger,  with  a  show  of  being 
very  particular  with  a  view  to  proceedings  to  be  had 
thereafter,  desired  the  jailer  to  communicate  "the 
names  of  them  two  files  as  was  on  the  bench;" 
which  so  tickled  the  spectators  that  they  laughed 
almost  as  heartily  as  Master  Bates  could  have  done 
if  he  had  heard  the  request. 

"  Silence  there !"  cried  the  jailer. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  inquired  one  of  the  magistrates. 

"  A  pick-pocketing  case,  your  worship." 

"Has  the  boy  ever  been  here  before  ?" 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  a  many  times,"  replied 


the  jailer.  "  He  has  been  pretty  well  everywhere 
else.  /  know  him  well,  your  worship." 

"Oh!  you  know  me,  do  you?"  cried  the  Artful, 
making  a  note  of  the  statement.  "Wery  good. 
That's  a  case  of  deformation  of  character,  any  way." 

Here  there  wyas  another  laugh,  and  another  cry  of 
silence. 

"  Now,  then,  where  are  the  witnesses  ?"  said  the 
clerk. 

"Ah!  that's  right,"  added  the  Dodger.  "Where 
are  they  ?  I  should  like  to  see  'em," 

This  wish  was  immediately  gratified,  for  a  police 
man  stepped  forward  who  had  seen  the  prisoner  at 
tempt  the  pocket  of  an  unknown  gentleman  in  a 
crowd,  and,  indeed,  take  a  handkerchief  therefrom, 
which,  being  a  very  old  one,  he  deliberately  put 
back  again,  after  trying  it  on  his  own  countenance. 
For  this  reason  he  took  the  Dodger  into  custody  as 
soon  as  he  could  get  near  him,  and  the  said  Dodger, 
being  searched,  had  upon  his  person  a  silver  snuff 
box,  with  the  owner's  name  engraved  upon  the  lid. 
This  gentleman  had  been  discovered  on  reference  to 
the  Court  Guide ;  and  being  then  and  there  present, 
swore  that  the  snuff-box  was  his,  and  that  he  had 
missed  it  on  the  previous  day,  the  moment  he  had 
disengaged  himself  from  the  crowd  before  referred 
to.  He  had  also  remarked  a  young  gentleman  in 
the  throng  particularly  active  in  making  his  way 
about,  and  that  young  gentleman  was  the  prisoner 
before  him. 

"  Have  yon  any  thing  to  ask  this  witness,  boy  ?" 
said  the  magistrate. 

"  I  wouldn't  abase  myself  by  descending  to  hold 
no  conversation  with  him,"  replied  the  Dodger. 

"  Have  you  any  thing  to  say  at  all  ?" 

"  Do  you  hear  his  worship  ask  if  you've  any  thing 
to  say  ?"  inquired  the  jailer,  nudging  the  silent  Dodg 
er  with  his  elbow. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Dodger,  looking  up 
with  an  air  of  abstraction.  "  Did  you  redress  your 
self  to  me,  my  man  ?" 

"I  never  see  such  an  out-and-out  young  waga- 
bond,  your  worship,"  observed  the  officer,  with  a 
griu.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  any  thing,  you  young 
shaver  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  Dodger,  "  not  here,  for  this  ain't 
the  shop  for  justice ;  besides  which,  my  attorney  is 
a-breakfasting  this  morning  with  the  Wice-president 
of  the  House  of  Commons ;  but  I  shall  have  some 
thing  to  say  elsewhere,  and  so  will  he,  and  so  will 
a  wery  numerous  and  'spectable  circle  of  acqiiaint- 
ance  as'll  make  them  beaks  wish  they'd  never  been 
born,  or  that  they'd  got  their  footmen  to  hang  'em 
up  to  their  own  hat-pegs  'afore  they  let  'em  come  out 
this  morning  to  try  it  on  upon  me.  I'll — 

"There!  He's  fully  committed!"  interposed  the 
clerk.  "  Take  him  away." 

"  Come  on,"  said  the  jailer. 

"  Oh,  ah !  I'll  come  on,"  replied  the  Dodger,  brush 
ing  his  hat  with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "Ah1  (to 
the  Bench)  it's  no  use  your  looking  frightened  ;  I 
won't  show  you  no  mercy,  not  a  ha'porth  of  it. 
You'll  pay  for  this,  my  fine  fellers.  I  wouldn't  be 
you  for  something.  I  wouldn't  go  free,  now,  if  you 
was  to  fall  down  on  your  knees  and  ask  me.  Here, 
carry  me  off  to  prison !  Take  me  away !" 


140 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


With  these  last  words,  the  Dodger  suffered  him 
self  to  be  led  oft"  by  the  collar,  threatening,  till  he 
got  into  the  yard,  to  make  a  parliamentary  business 
of  it,  and  then  grinning  in  the  officer's  face  with  great 
glee  and  self-approval. 

Having  seen  him  locked  up  by  himself  in  a  little 
cell,  Noah  made  the  best  of  his  way  back  to  where 
he  had  left  Master  Bates.  After  waiting  here  some 
time,  he  was  joined  by  that  young  gentleman,  who 
had  prudently  abstained  from  showing  himself  until 
he  had  looked  carefully  abroad  from  a  snug  retreat 
aud  ascertained  that  his  new  friend  had  not  been  fol 
lowed  by  any  impertinent  person. 


bered  that  both  the  crafty  Jew  and  the  brutal  Sikes 
had  confided  to  her  schemes  which  had  been  hidden 
from  all  others,  in  the  full  confidence  that  she  was 
trustworthy,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  their  suspicion. 
Vile  as  those  schemes  were,  desperate  as  were  their 
originators,  and  bitter  as  were  her  feelings  toward  Fa- 
gin,  who  had  led  her,  step  by  step,  deeper  and  deeper 
down  into  an  abyss  of  crime  and  misery  whence  was 
no  escape,  still  there  were  times  when,  even  toward 
him,  she  felt  some  relenting  lest  her  disclosure  should 
bring  him  within  the  iron  grasp  he  had  so  long 
eluded,  and  he  should  fall  at  last — richly  as  he  mer 
ited  such  a  fate — by  her  hand. 


"WUAT   IS  THIS?"     INQUIRED   ONE  OP  THE   MAGISTRATES. — 1<A   PICK-POCKETING   CASE,  YOUB  WO3SI1IP." 


The  two  hastened  back  together,  to  bear  to  Mr.  Fa- 
gin  the  animating  news  that  the  Dodger  was  doing 
full  justice  to  his  bringing  up,  and  establishing  for 
himself  a  glorious  reputation. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  TIME  ARRIVES  FOR  NANCY  TO  REDEEM  HER  PLEDGE 
TO  ROSE  MAYLIE.      SHE   FAILS. 

ADEPT  as  she  was  in  all  the  arts  of  cunning  and 
dissimulation,  the  girl  Nancy  could  not  wholly 
conceal  the  effect  which  the  knowledge  of  the  step 
she  had  taken  wrought  upon  her  mind.     She  remem- 


But  these  were  the  mere  wanderings  of  a  mind  un 
able  wholly  to  detach  itself  from  old  companions  and 
associations,  though  enabled  to  fix  itself  steadily  on 
one  object,  and  resolved  not  to  be  turned  aside  by 
any  consideration.  Her  fears  for  Sikes  would  have 
been  more  powerful  inducements  to  recoil  while  there 
was  yet  time,  but  she  had  stipulated  that  her  secret 
should  be  rigidly  kept;  she  had  dropped  no  clue 
which  could  lead  to  his  discovery ;  she  had  refused, 
even  for  his  sake,  a  refuge  from  all  the  guilt  and 
wretchedness  that  encompassed  her — and  what  more 
could  she  do !  She  was  resolved. 

Though  all  her  mental  struggles  terminated  in  this 
conclusion,  they  forced  themselves  upon  her  again 


THE  KEY  TURNED  ON  NANCY. 


141 


and  again,  and  left  their  traces  too.  She  grew  pale 
and  thin,  even  within  a  few  days.  At  times  she  took 
no  heed  of  what  was  passing  before  her,  or  no  part 
in  conversations  where  once  she  would  have  been  the 
loudest.  At  other  times  she  laughed  without  merri 
ment,  and  was  noisy  without  cause  or  meaning.  At 
others — often  within  a  moment  afterward — she  sat 
silent  and  dejected,  brooding  with  her  head  upon 
her  hands,  while  the  very  effort  by  which  she  roused 
herself  told,  more  forcibly  than  even  these  indica 
tions,  that  she  was  ill  at  ease,  and  that  her  thoughts 
were  occupied  with  matters  very  different  and  dis 
tant  from  those  in  course  of  discussion  by  her  com 
panions. 

It  was  Sunday  night,  and  the  bell  of  the  nearest 
church  struck  the  hour.  Sikes  and  the  Jew  were 
talking,  but  they  paused  to  listen.  The  girl  looked 
up  from  the  low  seat  on  which  she  crouched  and  list 
ened  too.  Eleven. 

"An  hour  this  side  of  midnight,"  said  Sikes,  rais 
ing  the  blind  to  look  out,  and  returning  to  his  seat. 
"  Dark  and  heavy  it  is  too.  A  good  night  for  busi 
ness  this." 

"Ah!"  replied  Fagin.  "What  a  pity,  Bill,  my 
dear,  that  there's  none  quite  ready  to  be  done." 

"You're  right  for  once,"  replied  Sikes,  gruffly. 
"  It  is  a  pity,  for  I'm  in  the  humor  too." 

Fagin  sighed,  and  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

"We  must  make  up  for  lost  time  when  we've  got 
things  into  a  good  train.  That's  all  I  know,"  said 
Sikes. 

"  That's  the  way  to  talk,  my  dear,"  replied  Fagin, 
venturing  to  pat  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  It  does  me 
good  to  hear  you." 

"  Does  you  good,  does  it !"  cried  Sikes.  "  Well,  so 
be  it." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  laughed  Fagin,  as  if  he  were  re 
lieved  by'even  this  concession.  "You're  like  your 
self  to-night,  Bill !  Quite  like  yourself." 

"  I  don't  feel  like  myself  wnen  you  lay  that  with 
ered  old  claw  on  my  shoulder,  so  take  it  away,"  said 
Sikes,  casting  off  the  Jew's  hand. 

"  It  makes  you  nervous,  Bill — reminds  you  of  be 
ing  nabbed,  does  it  ?"  said  Fagiu,  determined  not  to 
be  offended. 

"  Eeminds  me  of  being  nabbed  by  the  devil,"  re 
turned  Sikes.  "  There  never  was  another  man  with 
such  a  face  as  yours,  unless  it  was  your  father,  and 
I  suppose  he  is  singeing  his  grizzled  red  beard  by 
this  time,  unless  you  came  straight  from  the  old  'un 
without  any  father  at  all  betwixt  you;  which  I 
shouldn't  wonder  at  a  bit." 

Fagin  offered  no  reply  to  this  compliment;  but, 
pulling  Sikes  by  the  sleeve,  pointed  his  finger  toward 
Nancy,  who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  foregoing 
conversation  to  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  was  now 
leaving  the  room. 

"  Halloo !"  cried  Sikes.  "  Nance !  Where's  the  gal 
going  to  at  this  time  of  night  ?" 

"  Not  far." 

"What  answer's  that?"  returned  Sikes.  "Where 
axe  you  going  ?" 

"  I  say,  not  far." 

"And  I  say,  where  ?"  retorted  Sikes.  "  Do  you 
hear  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  where,"  replied  the  girl. 


"  Then  I  do,"  said  Sikes,  more  in  the  spirit  of  ob 
stinacy  than  because  he  had  any  real  objection  to 
the  girl  going  Avhere  she  listed.  "Nowrhere.  Sit 
down." 

"  I'm  not  well.  I  told  yon  that  before,"  rejoined 
the  girl.  "  I  want  a  breath  of  air." 

"  Put  your  head  out  of  the  winder,"  replied  Sikes. 

"  There's  not  enough  there,"  said  the  girl.  "  I 
want  it  in  the  street." 

"  Then  you  won't  have  it,"  replied  Sikes.  With 
which  assurance  he  rose,  locked  the  door,  took  the 
key  out,  and  pulling  her  bonnet  from  her  head,  flung 
it  up  to  the  top  of  an  old  press. 

"  There  !"  said  the  robber.  "  Now  stop  quietly 
where  you  are,  will  you  ?" 

"  It's  not  such  a  matter  as  a  bonnet  would  keep 
me,"  said  the  girl,  turning  very  pale.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Bill  ?  Do  you  know  what  you're  doing  ?" 

"  Know  what  I'm —  Oh !"  cried  Sikes,  turning  to 
Fagin,  "she's  out  of  her  senses,  you  know,  or  she 
daren't  talk  to  me  in  that  way." 

"  You'll  drive  me  on  to  something  desperate,"  mut 
tered  the  girl,  placing  both  hands  upon  her  breast  as 
though  to  keep  down  by  force  some  violent  outbreak. 
"  Let  me  go,  will  you — this  minute — this  instant !" 

"No!"  said  Sikes. 

"Tell  him  to  let  me  go,  Fagin.  He  had  better. 
It'll  be  better  for  him.  Do  you  hear  me?"  cried 
Nancy,  stamping  her  foot  upon  the  ground. 

"  Hear  you !"  repeated  Sikes,  turning  round  in  his 
chair  to  confront  her.  "Ay!  And  if  I  hear  you  for 
half  a  minute  longer,  the  dog  shall  have  such  a  grip 
on  your  throat  as'll  tear  some  of  that  screaming  voice 
out.  Wot  has  come  over  you,  you  jade  ?  Wot  is  it  ?" 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  the  girl  with  great  earnestness ; 
then  sitting  herself  down  on  the  floor  before  the 
door,  she  said,  "Bill,  let  me  go;  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  doing.  You  don't,  indeed.  For  only 
one  hour — do — do !" 

"  Cut  my  limbs  off  one  by  one,"  cried  Sikes,  seiz 
ing  her  roughly  by  the  arm,  "  if  I  don't  think  the 
girl's  stark  raving  mad.  Get  up !" 

"  Not  till  you  let  me  go — not  till  you  let  me  go — 
never — never!"  screamed  the  girl.  Sikes  looked  on 
for  a  minute,  watching  his  opportunity,  and  sudden 
ly  pinioning  her  hands,  dragged  her,  struggling  and 
wrestling  with  him  by  the  way,  into  a  small  room  ad 
joining,  where  he  sat  himself  on  a  bench,  and,  thrust 
ing  her  into  a  chair,  held  her  down  by  force.  She 
struggled  and  implored  by  turns  until  twelve  o'clock 
had  struck,  and  then,  wearied  and  exhausted,  ceased 
to  contest  the  point  any  further.  With  a  caution, 
backed  by  many  oaths,  to  make  no  more  efforts  to 
go  out  that  night,  Sikes  left  her  to  recover  at  leisure 
and  rejoined  Fagin. 

"Whew!"  said  the  house-breaker,  wiping  the  per-: 
spiration  from  his  face.  "Wot  a  precious  strange 
gal  that  is!" 

"  You  may  say  that,  Bill,"  replied  Fagin,  thought 
fully.  "  You  may  say  that." 

"  Wot  did  she  take  it  into  her  head  to  go  out  to 
night  for,  do  you  think  ?"  asked  Sikes.  "  Come  ; 
you  should  know  her  better  than  me.  Wot  does  it 
mean  ?" 

"Obstinacy;  woman's  obstinacy,  I  suppose,  my 
dear." 


142 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is,"  growled  Sikes.  "  I  thought 
I  had  tained  her,  but  she's  as  bad  as  ever." 

"Worse,"  said  Fagin,  thoughtfully.  "  I  never 
knew  her  like  this,  for  such  a  little  cause." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Sikes.  "  I  thiuk  she's  got  a  touch 
of  that  fever  in  her  blood  yet,  and  it  won't  come  out 
—eh?" 

"  Like  enough." 

"  I'll  let  her  a  little  blood,  without  troubling  the 
doctor,  if  she's  took  that  way  again,"  said  Sikes. 

Fagin  nodded  an  expressive  approval  of  this  mode 
of  treatment. 

"  She  was  hanging  about  me  all  day,  and  night 
too,  when  I  was  stretched  on  my  back ;  and  you,  like 
a  black-hearted  wolf  as  you  are,  kept  yourself  aloof," 
said  Sikes.  "We  was  very  poor  too,  all  the  time,  and 
I  think,  one  way  or  other,  it's  worried  and  fretted 
her ;  and  that  being  shut  up  here  so  long  has  made 
her  restless — eh  ?" 

"  That's  it,  rny  dear,"  replied  the  Jew,  in  a  whisper. 
"Hush!" 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  the  girl  herself  appear 
ed  and  resumed  her  former  seat.  Her  eyes  were 
swollen  and  red ;  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  toss 
ed  her  head,  and,  after  a  little  time,  burst  out  laugh 
ing. 

"Why,  now  she's  on  the  other  tack!"  exclaimed 
Sikes,  turning  a  look  of  excessive  surprise  on  his 
companion. 

Fagin  nodded  to  him  to  take  no  further  notice 
just  then,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  girl  subsided 
into  her  accustomed  demeanor.  Whispering  Sikes 
that  there  was  no  fear  of  her  relapsing,  Fagin  took 
up  his  hat  and  bade  him  good-night.  He  paused 
when  he  reached  the  room-door,  and,  looking  round, 
asked  if  somebody  would  light  him  down  the  dark 
stairs. 

"  Light  him  down,"  said  Sikes,  who  was  filling  his 
pipe.  "  It's  a  pity  he  should  break  his  neck  him 
self,  and  disappoint  the  sight -seers.  Show  him  a 
light." 

Nancy  followed  the  old  man  down  stairs  with  a 
candle.  When  they  reached  the  passage,  he  laid  his 
finger  on  his  lip,  and  drawing  close  to  the  girl,  said, 
in  a  whisper, 

"  What  is  it,  Nancy,  dear  ?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  replied  the  girl,  in  the 
same  tone. 

"  The  reason  of  all  this,"  replied  Fagin.  "  If  he  " 
— he  pointed  with  his  skinny  forefinger  up  the  stairs 
— "  is  so  hard  with  you  (he's  a  brute,  Nance,  a  brute- 
beast),  why  don't  you — 

"  Well  ?"  said  the  girl,  as  Fagin  paused,  with  his 
mouth  almost  touching  her  ear,  and  his  eyes  looking 
into  hers. 

.  "No  matter  just  now.  We'll  talk  of  this  again. 
You  have  a  friend  in  me,  Nance — a  staunch  friend. 
I  have  the  means  at  hand,  quiet  and  close.  If  you 
want  revenge  on  those  that  treat  you  like  a  dog — 
like  a  dog !  worse  than  his  dog,  for  he  humors  him 
sometimes — come  to  me.  I  say,  come  to  me.  He  is 
the  mere  hound  of  a  day,  but  you  know  me  of  old, 
Nance," 

"  I  know  you  well,"  replied  the  girl,  without  man 
ifesting  the  least  emotion.  "  Good-night." 

She  shrank  back,  as  Fagin  offered  to  lay  his  hand 


on  hers,  but  said  good-night  again  in  a  steady  voice, 
and,  answering  his  parting  look  with  a  nod  of  intelli 
gence,  closed  the  door  between  them. 

Fagin  walked  toward  his  own  home,  intent  upon 
the  thoughts  that  were  working  within  his  brain. 
He  had  conceived  the  idea — not  from  what  had  just 
passed,  though  that  had  tended  to  confirm  him,  but 
slowly  and  by  degrees — that  Nancy,  wearied  of  the 
house-breaker's  brutality,  had  conceived  an  attach 
ment  for  some  new  friend.  Her  altered  manner,  her 
repeated  absences  from  home  alone,  her  comparative 
indifference  to  the  interests  of  the  gang  for  which 
she  had  once  been  so  zealous,  and,  added  to  these,  her 
desperate  impatience  to  leave  home  that  night  at  a 
particular  hour,  all  favored  the  supposition,  and  ren 
dered  it,  to  him  at  least,  almost  matter  of  certainty. 
The  object  of  this  new  liking  was  not  among  his 
myrmidons.  He  would  be  a  valuable  acquisition 
with  such  an  assistant  as  Nancy,  and  must  (thus  Fa- 
gin  argued)  be  secured  without  delay. 

There  was  another  and  a  darker  object  to  be  gain 
ed.  Sikes  knew  too  much,  and  his  ruffian  taunts 
had  not  galled  Fagin  the  less  because  the  wounds 
were  hidden.  The  girl  must  know  well  that,  if  she 
shook  him  off,  she  could  never  be  safe  from  his  fury, 
and  that  it  would  be  surely  wreaked — to  the  maim 
ing  of  limbs,  or  perhaps  the  loss  of  life — on  the  ob 
ject  of  her  more  recent  fancy.  "With  a  little  per 
suasion,"  thought  Fagin,  "  what  more  likely  than 
that  she  would  consent  to  poison  him?  Women 
have  done  such  things,  and  worse,  to  secure  the  same 
object  before  now.  There  Avould  be  the  dangerous 
villain,  the  man  I  hate,  gone ;  another  secured  in  his 
place ;  and  my  influence  over  the  girl,  with  a  knowl 
edge  of  this  crime  to  back  it,  unlimited." 

These  things  passed  through  the  mind  of  Fagin 
during  the  short  time  he  sat  alone  in  the  house-break 
er's  room ;  and  with  them  uppermost  in  his  thoughts, 
he  had  taken  the  opportunity  afterward  afforded 
him  of  sounding  the  girl  in  the  broken  hints  he 
threw  out  at  parting.  There  was  no  expression  of 
surprise,  no  assumption  of  an  inability  to  understand 
his  meaning.  The  girl  clearly  comprehended  it.  Her 
glance  at  parting  showed  that. 

But  perhaps  she  would  recoil  from  a  plot  to  take 
the  life  of  Sikes,  and  that  was  one  of  the  chief  ends 
to  be  attained.  "  How,"  thought  Fagiu,  as  he  crept 
homeward,  "  can  I  increase  my  influence  with  her  ? 
what  new  power  can  I  acquire  ?" 

Such  brains  are  fertile  in  expedients.  If,  without 
extracting  a  confession  from  herself,  he  laid  a  watch, 
discovered  the  object  of  her  altered  regard,  and  threat 
ened  to  reveal  the  whole  history  to  Sikes  (of  whom 
she  stood  in  no  common  fear)  unless  she  entered  into 
his  designs,  could  he  not  secure  her  compliance  ? 

"I  can,"  said  Fagiu,  almost  aloud.  "  She  durst 
not  refuse  me  then.  Not  for  her  life,  not  for  her  life ! 
I  have  it  all.  The  means  are  ready,  and  shall  be  set 
to  work.  I  shall  have  you  yet  ?" 

He  cast  back  a  dark  look,  and  a  threatening  mo 
tion  of  the  hand,  toward  the  spot  where  he  had  left 
the  bolder  villain ;  and  went  on  his  way,  busying 
his  bony  hands  in  the  folds  of  his  tattered  garment, 
which  he  wrenched  tightly  in  his  grasp,  as  though 
there  were  a  hated  enemy  crushed  with  every  mo 
tion  of  his  fingers. 


BOLTER  AGAIN  IX  EEQUEST. 


143 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

NOAH    CLATPOLE   18   EMPLOYED   BY   FAGIN   ON  A  SECRET 
MISSION. 

THE  old  man  was  up  betimes  next  morning,  and 
waited  impatiently  for  the  appearance  of  his 
new  associate,  who,  after  a  delay  that  seemed  inter 
minable,  at  length  presented  himself,  and  commenced 
a  voracious  assault  on  the  breakfast. 

"  Bolter,"  said  Fagin,  drawing  up  a  chair  and  seat 
ing  himself  opposite  Morris  Bolter. 

"Well,  here  I  am,"  returned  Noah.  "What's  the 
matter  ?  Don't  yer  ask  me  to  do  any  thing  till  I 
have  done  eating.  That's  a  great  fault  in  this  place. 
Yer  never  get  time  enough  over  yer  meals." 

"  You  can  talk  as  you  eat,  can't  you  ?"  said  Fagin, 
cursing  his  dear  young  friend's  greediness  from  the 
very  bottom  of  his  heart. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can  talk.  I  get  on  better  when  I 
talk,"  said  Noah,  cutting  a  monstrous  slice  of  bread. 
"Where's  Charlotte?" 

"  Out,"  said  Fagin.  "  I  sent  her  out  this  morning 
with  the  other  young  woman,  because  I  wanted  us 
to  be  alone." 

"  Oh !"  said  Noah.  "  I  wish  yer'd  ordered  her  to 
make  some  buttered  toast  first.  WTell,  talk  away. 
Yer  won't  interrupt  me." 

There  seemed,  indeed,  no  great  fear  of  any  thing 
interrupting  him,  as  he  had  evidently  sat  down  with 
a  determination  to  do  a  great  deal  of  business. 

"  You  did  well  yesterday,  my  dear,"  said  Fagin. 
"  Beautiful !  Six  shillings  and  ninepence  half-pen 
ny  on  the  very  first  day !  The  kinchin  lay  will  be 
a  fortune  to  you." 

"  Don't  you  forget  to  add  three  pint-pots  and  a 
milk-can,"  said  Mr.  Bolter. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear.  The  pint-pots  were  great 
strokes  of  genius ;  but  the  milk-can  was  a  perfect 
masterpiece." 

"  Pretty  well,  I  think,  for  a  beginner,"  remarked 
Mr.  Bolter,  complacently.  "  The  pots  I  took  off  airy 
railings,  and  the  milk-can  was  standing  by  itself 
outside  a  public-house.  I  thought  it  might  get 
rusty  with  the  rain,  or  catch  cold,  yer  know — eh  ? 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Fagin  affected  to  laugh  very  heartily ;  and  Mr. 
Bolter  having  had  his  laugh  out,  took  a  series  of 
large  bites,  which  finished  his  first  hunk  of  bread- 
and-butter,  and  assisted  Mmself  to  a  second. 

"  I  want  you,  Bolter,"  said  Fagin,  leaning  over 
the  table,  "  to  do  a  piece  of  work  for  me,  my  dear, 
that  needs  great  care  and  caution." 

"  I  say,"  rejoined  Bolter,  "  don't  yer  go  shoving 
me  into  danger,  or  sending  me  to  any  more  o'  yer 
police-offices.  That  don't  suit  me,  that  don't ;  and 
so  I  tell  yer." 

"  There's  not  the  smallest  danger  in  it — not  the 
very  smallest,"  said  the  Jew ;  "  it's  only  to  dodge  a 
woman." 

"An  old  woman  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Bolter. 

"  A  young  one,"  replied  Fagiu. 

"  I  can  do  that  pretty  well,  I  know,"  said  Bolter. 
"  I  was  a  regular  cunning  sneak  when  I  was  at 
school.  What  am  I  to  dodge  her  for  ?  Not  to — " 

"  Not  to  do  any  thing,  but  to  tell  me  where  she 
goes,  who  she  sees,  and,  if  possible,  what  she  says ; 


to  remember  the  street,  if  it  is  a  street,  or  the  house, 
if  it  is  a  house ;  and  to  bring  me  back  all  the  in 
formation  you  can." 

"  What'U  yer  give  me  ?"  asked  Noah,  setting  down 
his  cup  and  looking  his  employer  eagerly  in  the  face. 

"If  you  do  it  well,  a  pound,  my  dear.  One 
pound,"  said  Fagin,  wishing  to  interest  him  in  the 
scent  as  much  as  possible.  "And  that's  what  I  nev 
er  gave  yet  for  any  job  of  work  where  there  wasn't 
valuable  consideration  to  be  gained." 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  inquired  Noah. 

"  One  of  us." 

"  Oh  Lor !"  cried  Noah,  curling  up  his  nose.  "  Yer 
doubtful  of  her,  are  yer  ?" 

"  She  has  found  out  some  new  friends,  my  dear, 
and  I  must  know  who  they  are,"  replied  Fagin. 

"  I  see,"  said  Noah,  "  Just  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  them,  if  they're  respectable  people— eh  ? 
Ha !  ha !  ha !  I'm  your  man." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be,"  cried  Fagin,  elated  by 
the  success  of  his  proposal. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  Noah.  "  Where  is 
she?  Where  am  I  to  wait  for  her?  WTiere  am  I  to  go  ?" 

"All  that,  my  dear,  you  shall  hear  from  me.  I'll 
point  her  out  at  the  proper  time,"  said  Fagiu.  "  You 
keep  ready,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

That  night,  and  the  next,  and  the  next  sgain,  the 
spy  sat  booted  and  equipped  in  his  carter's  dress, 
ready  to  turn  out  at  a  word  from  Fagin.  Six  nights 
passed — six  long  weary  nights — and  on  each  Fagin 
came  home  with  a  disappointed  face,  and  briefly  in 
timated  that  it  was  not  yet  time.  On  the  seventh 
he  returned  earlier,  and  with  an  exultation  he  could 
not  conceal.  It  was  Sunday. 

"  She  goes  abroad  to-night,"  said  Fagin,  "  and  on 
the  right  errand,  I'm  sure ;  for  she  has  been  alone  all 
day,  and  the  man  she  is  afraid  of  will  not  be  back 
much  before  day -break.  Come  with  me.  Quick !" 

Noah  started  up  without  saying  a  word ;  for  the 
Jew  was  in  a  state  of  such  intense  excitement  that 
it  infected  him.  They  left  the  house  stealthily,  and, 
hurrying  through  a  labyrinth  of  streets,  arrived  at 
length  before  a  public-house,  which  Noah  recognized 
as  the  same  in  which  he  had  slept  on  the  night  of 
his  arrival  in  London. 

It  was  past  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  door  was  closed. 
It  opened  softly  on  its  hinges  as  Fagin  gave  a  low 
whistle.  They  entered  without  noise,  and  the  door 
was  closed  behind  them. 

Scarcely  venturing  to  whisper,  but  substituting 
dumb  show  for  words,  Fagin  and  the  young  Jew  who 
had  admitted  them  pointed  out  the  pane  of  glass  to 
Noah,  and  signed  to  him  to  climb  up  and  observe  the 
person  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  Is  that  the  woman  ?"  he  asked,  scarcely  above  his 
breath. 

Fagin  nodded  yes. 

"  I  can't  see  her  face  well,"  whispered  Noah.  "  She 
is  looking  down,  and  the  candle  is  behind  her." 

"  Stay  there,"  whispered  Fagin.  He  signed  to  Bar 
ney,  who  withdrew.  In  an  instant  the  lad  entered 
the  room  adjoining,  and,  under  pretense  of  snuffing 
the  candle,  moved  it  in  the  required  position,  and, 
speaking  to  the  girl,  caused  her  to  raise  her  face. 

"  I  see  her  now,"  cried  the  spy. 

"Plainly?" 


144 


OLIVER   TWIST, 


"  I  should  know  her  among  a  thousand." 
He  hastily  descended  as  the  room-door  opened,  and 
the  girl  came  out.  Fagin  drew  him  behind  a  small 
partition  which  was  curtained  off,  and  they  held  their 
breaths  as  she  passed  within  a  few  feet  of  their  place 
of  concealment  and  emerged  by  the  door  at  which 
they  had  entered. 

"  Hist !"  cried  the  lad  who  held  the  door.    "  Dow !" 
Noah  exchanged  a  look  with  Fagin,  and  darted  out. 
"To  the  left,"  whispered  the  lad:  "take  the  left 
had,  and  keep  od  the  other  side." 

He  did  so ;  and,  by  the  light  of  the  lamps,  saw  the 
girl's  retreating  figure,  already  at  some  distance  be 
fore  him.  He  advanced  as  near  as  he  considered  pru 
dent,  and  kept  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  the 


was  that  of  a  woman,  who  looked  eagerly  about  her 
as  though  in  quest  of  some  expected  object ;  the  other 
figure  was  that  of  a  man,  who  slunk  along  in  the 
deepest  shadow  he  could  find,  and,  at  some  distance, 
accommodated  his  pace  to  hers — stopping  when  she 
stopped,  and,  as  she  moved  again,  creeping  stealthily 
on,  but  never  allowing  himself,  in  the  ardor  of  his 
pursuit,  to  gain  upon  her  footsteps.  Thus  they  cross 
ed  the  bridge,  from  the  Middlesex  to  the  Surrey  shore, 
when  the  woman,  apparently  disappointed  in  her 
anxious  scrutiny  of  the  foot-passengers,  turned  back. 
The  movement  was  sudden;  but  he  who  watched 
her  was  not  thrown  off  his  guard  by  it ;  for,  shrink 
ing  into  one  of  the  recesses  which  surmount  the  piers 
of  the  bridge,  and  leaning  over  the  parapet,  the  bet- 


"  WHEN   SHE   WAS  ABOUT  THE  SAME  DISTANCE  IN  ADVANCE   AS  SHE   HAD   BEEN    BEFOEE,  HE  SLIPPED   QUIETLY  DOWN,  AND   FOLLOWED 

HER  AGAIN." 


better  to  observe  her  motions.  She  looked  nervous 
ly  round  twice  or  thrice,  and  once  stopped  to  let  two 
men  who  were  following  close  behind  her  pass  on. 
She  seemed  to  gather  courage  as  she  advanced,  and 
to  walk  with  a  steadier  and  firmer  step.  The  spy 
preserved  the  same  relative  distance  between  them, 
and  followed,  with  his  eye  upon  her. 


CHAPTEE  XL VI. 

THE  APPOINTMENT  KEPT. 

rMHE  church  clocks  chimed  three  quarters  past  elev- 
_L  en,  as  two  figures  emerged  on  London  Bridge. 
One,  which  advanced  with  a  swift  and  rapid  step, 


ter  to  conceal  his  figure,  he  suffered  her  to  pass  on 
the  opposite  pavement.  When  she  was  about  the 
same  distance  in  advance  as  she  had  been  before,  he 
slipped  quietly  down,  and  followed  her  again.  At 
nearly  the  centre  of  the  bridge  she  stopped.  The 
man  stopped  too. 

It  was  a  very  dark  night.  The  day  had  been  un 
favorable,  and  at  that  hour  and  place  there  were  few 
people  stirring.  Such  as  there  were  hurried  quickly 
past,  very  possibly  without  seeing,  but  certainly  with 
out  noticing,  either  the  woman  or  the  man  who  kept 
her  in  view.  Their  appearance  was  not  calculated 
to  attract  the  importunate  regards  of  such  of  Lon 
don's  destitute  population  as  chanced  to  take  their 
way  over  the  bridge  that  night  in  search  of  some 
cold  arch  or  doorless  hovel  wherein  to  lay  their 


THE  SPY  UNDER  THE  WALL. 


145 


heads ;  they  stood  there  iu  silence,  neither  speaking 
nor  spoken  to  by  any  one  who  passed. 

A  mist  hung  over  the  river,  deepening  the  red  glare 
of  the  tires  that  burned  upon  the  small  craft  moored 
oft'  the  different  wharves,  and  rendering  darker  and 
more  indistinct  the  inurky  buildings  on  the  banks. 
The  old  smoke-stained  store-houses  on  either  side  rose 
heavy  and  dull  from  the  dense  mass  of  roofs  and  ga 
bles,  and  frowned  sternly  upon  water  too  black  to 
reflect  even  their  lumbering  shapes.  The  tower  of 
old  Saint  Saviour's  Church,  and  the  spire  of  Saint 
Magnus,  so  long  the  giant-warders  of  the  ancient 
bridge,  were  visible  in  the  gloom;  but  the  forest 
of  shipping  below  bridge,  and  the  thickly  scattered 
spires  of  churches  above,  were  nearly  all  hidden 
from  the  sight. 

The  girl  had  taken  a  few  restless  turns  to  and  fro, 
closely  watched  meanwhile  by  her  hidden  observer, 
when  the  heavy  bell  of  St.  Paul's  tolled  for  the  death 
of  another  day.  Midnight  had  come  upon  the  crowd 
ed  city.  The  palace,  the  night-cellar,  the  jail,  the 
mad-house ;  the  chambers  of  birth  and  death,  of  health 
and  sickness,  the  rigid  face  of  the  corpse  and  the  calm 
sleep  of  the  child — midnight  was  upon  them  all. 

The  hour  had  not  struck  two  minutes,  when  a 
young  lady,  accompanied  by  a  gray-haired  gentle 
man,  alighted  from  a  hackney-carriage  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  bridge,  and,  having  dismissed  the  ve 
hicle,  walked  straight  toward  it.  They  had  scarcely 
set  foot  upon  its  pavement,  when  the  girl  started, 
and  immediately  made  toward  them. 

They  walked  onward,  looking  about  them  with  the 
air  of  persons  who  entertained  some  very  slight  ex 
pectation  which  had  little  chance  of  being  realized, 
when  they  were  suddenly  joined  by  this  new  associ 
ate.  They  halted  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise, 
but  suppressed  it  immediately;  for  a  man  in  the 
garments  of  a  countryman  came  close  up — brushed 
against  them,  indeed — at  that  precise  moment. 

"  Not  here,"  said  Nancy,  hurriedly,  "  I  am  afraid  to 
speak  to  you  here.  Come  away — out  of  the  public 
road — down  the  steps  yonder !" 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  and  indicated  with 
her  hand  the  direction  in  which  she  wished  them  to 
proceed,  the  countryman  looked  round,  and  roughly 
asking  what  they  took  up  the  whole  pavement  for, 
passed  on. 

The  steps  to  which  the  girl  had  pointed  were  those 
which,  on  the  Surrey  bank,  and  on  the  same  side  of 
the  bridge  as  Saint  Saviour's  Church,  form  a  landing- 
stairs  from  the  river.  To  this  spot  the  man  bearing 
the  appearance  of  a  countryman  hastened  unobserved, 
and  after  a  moment's  survey  of  the  place,  he  began 
to  descend. 

These  stairs  are  a  part  of  the  bridge ;  they  consist 
of  three  flights.  Just  below  the  end  of  the  second, 
going  down,  the  stone  wall  on  the  left  terminates  in 
an  ornamental  pilaster  facing  toward  the  Thames. 
At  this  point  the  lower  steps  widen,  so  that  a  person 
turning  that  angle  of  the  wall  is  necessarily  unseen 
by  any  others  on  the  stairs  who  chance  to  be  above 
him,  if  only  a  step.  The  countryman  looked  hasti 
ly  round  when  he  reached  this  point ;  and  as  there 
seemed  no  better  place  of  concealment,  and,  the  tide 
l>eing  out,  there  was  plenty  of  room,  he  slipped  aside, 
with  his  back  to  the  pilaster,  and  there  waited,  pret- 
K 


ty  certain  that  they  would  come  no  lower,  and  that 
even  if  he  could  not  hear  what  was  said,  he  could 
follow  them  again  with  safety. 

So  tardily  stole  the  time  in  this  lonely  place,  and 
so  eager  was  the  spy  to  penetrate  the  motives  of  an 
interview  so  different  from  what  he  had  been  led  to 
expect,  that  he  more  than  once  gave  the  matter  up 
for  lost,  and  persuaded  himself  either  that  they  had 
stopped  far  above,  or  had  resorted  to  some  entirely 
different  spot  to  hold  their  mysterious  conversation. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  emerging  from  his  hiding- 
place  and  regaining  the  road  above,  when  he  heard 
the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  directly  afterward  of 
voices  almost  close  at  his  ear. 

He  drew  himself  straight  upright  against  the  wall, 
and,  scarcely  breathing,  listened  attentively. 

"  This  is  far  enough,"  said  a  voice,  which  was  evi 
dently  that  of  the  gentleman.  "  I  will  not  suffer  the 
young  lady  to  go  any  farther.  Many  people  would 
have  distrusted  you  too  much  to  have  come  even  so 
far,  but  you  see  I  am  willing  to  humor  you." 

"  To  humor  me !"  cried  the  voice  of  the  girl  whom 
he  had  followed.  "  You're  considerate,  indeed,  sir. 
To  humor  me !  Well,  well,  it's  no  matter." 

"  Why,  for  what,"  said  the  gentleman,  in  a  kinder 
tone,  "  for  what  purpose  can  you  have  brought  us  to 
this  strange  place  ?  Why  not  have  let  me  speak  to 
you  above  there,  where  it  is  light,  and  there  is  some 
thing  stirring,  instead  of  bringing  us  to  this  dark 
and  dismal  hole  ?" 

"  I  told  you  before,"  replied  Nancy, "  that  I  was 
afraid  to  speak  to  you  there.  I  don't  know  why  it 
is,"  said  the  girl,  shuddering,  "  but  I  have  such  a 
fear  and  dread  upon  me  to-night  that  I  can  hardly 
stand." 

"A  fear  of  what  ?"  asked  the  gentleman,  who  seem 
ed  to  pity  her. 

"  I  scarcely  know  of  what,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I 
wish  I  did.  Horrible  thoughts  of  death,  and  shrouds 
with  blood  upon  them,  and  a  fear  that  has  made  me 
burn  as  if  I  was  on  tire,  have  been  upon  me  all  day. 
I  was  reading  a  book  to-night,  to  while  the  time 
away,  and  the  same  things  came  into  the  print." 

"  Imagination,"  said  the  gentleman,  soothing  her. 

"No  imagination,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "I'll  swear  I  saw  ' coffin '  written  in  every 
page  of  the  book  in  large  black  letters — ay,  and  they 
carried  one  close  to  me  in  the  streets  to-night." 

"  There  is  nothing  unusual  in  that,"  said  the  gen 
tleman.  "  They  have  passed  me  often." 

"  Real  ones,"  rejoined  the  girl.     "  This  was  not." 

There  was  something  so  uncommon  iu  her  manner. 
that  the  flesh  of  the  concealed  listener  crept  as  IK 
heard  the  girl  utter  these  words,  and  the  blood  chill 
ed  within  him.  He  had  never  experienced  a  greater 
relief  than  in  hearing  the  sweet  voice  of  the  young 
lady  as  she  begged  her  to  be  calm,  and  not  allow  her 
self  to  become  the  prey  of  such  fearful  fancies. 

"  Speak  to  her  kindly,"  said  the  young  lady  to  her 
companion.  "  Poor  creature !  She  seems  to  need  it.'' 

"Your  haughty  religious  people  would  have  held 
their  heads  up  to  see  me  as  I  am  to-night,  and 
preached,  of  flames  and  vengeance,"  cried  the  girl. 
"  Oh,  dear  lady,  why  ar'n't  those  who  claim  to  be 
God's  own  folks  as  gentle  and  as  kind  to  us  poor 
wretches  as  you,  who,  having  youth,  and  beauty,  and 


146 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


all  that  they  have  lost,  might  be  a  little  proud,  in 
stead  of  so  much  humbler  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  the  gentleman.  "A  Turk  turns  his 
face,  after  washing  it  well,  to  the  East,  when  he  says 
his  prayers;  these  good  people,  after  giving  their 
tact's  such  a  rub  against  the  World  as  to  take  the 
smiles  off,  turn  with  no  less  regularity  to  the  darkest 
side  of  Heaven.  Between  the  Mussulman  and  the 
Pharisee,  commend  me  to  the  first !" 

These  words  appeared  to  be  addressed  to  the  young 
lady,  and  were  perhaps  uttered  with  the  view  of  af 
fording  Nancy  time  to  recover  herself.  The  gentle 
man  shortly  afterward  addressed  himself  to  her. 

"  You  were  not  here  last  Sunday  night,"  he  said. 

"  I  couldn't  come,"  replied  Nancy ;  "  I  was  kept  by 
force." 

"  By  whom  ?" 

"  Him  that  I  told  the  young  lady  of  before." 

"  You  were  not  suspected  of  holding  any  commu 
nication  with  any  body  on  the  subject  which  has 
brought  us  here  to-night,  I  hope  ?"  asked  the  old 
gentleman. 

"No,"  replied  the  girl,  shaking  her  head.  "It's 
not  very  easy  for  me  to  leave  him  unless  he  knows 
why  ;  I  couldn't  have  seen  the  lady  when  I  did,  but 
that  I  gave  him  a  drink  of  laudanum  before  I  came 
away." 

"  Did  he  awake  before  you  returned  ?"  inquired  the 
gentleman. 

"  No ;  and  neither  he  nor  any  of  them  suspect  me." 

"  Good,"  said  the  gentleman.     "  Now  listen  to  me." 

"  I  am  ready,"  replied  the  girl,  as  he  paused  for  a 
moment. 

"  This  young  lady,"  the  gentleman  began, "  has 
communicated  to  me,  and  to  some  other  friends  who 
can  be  safely  trusted,  what  you  told  her  nearly  a 
fortnight  since.  I  confess  to  you  that  I  had  doubts 
at  first  whether  you  were  to  be  implicitly  relied 
upon,  but  now  I  firmly  believe  you  are." 

"  I  am,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly. 

"I  repeat  that  I  firmly  believe  it.  To  prove  ro 
you  that  I  am  disposed  to  trust  you,  I  tell  you,  with 
out  reserve,  that  we  propose  to  extort  the  secret, 
whatever  it  may  be,  from  the  fears  of  this  man 
Monks.  But  if — if — "  said  the  gentleman, "  he  can 
not  be  secured, 'or,  if  secured,  can  not  be  acted  upon 
as  we  wish,  yoii  must  deliver  up  the  Jew." 

"  Fagin !"  cried  the  girl,  recoiling. 

"  That  man  must  be  delivered  up  by  you,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

"  I  will  not  do  it !  I  will  never  do  it !"  replied  the 
girl.  "  Devil  that  he  is,  and  worse  than  devil  as  he 
has  been  to  me,  I  will  never  do  that." 

"  Yon  will  not  ?"  said  the  gentleman,  who  seemed 
fully  prepared  for  this  answer. 

"  Never !"  returned  the  girl. 

"  Tell  me  why  ?" 

"  For  one  reason,"  rejoined  the  girl,  firmly, "  for  one 
reason, that  the  lady  knows  and  will  stand  by  me  in — 
I  know  she  will,  for  I  have  her  promise ;  and  for  this 
other  reason  besides,  that,  bad  life  as  he  has  led,  I 
have  led  a  bad  life  too :  there  are  many  of  us  who 
have  kept  the  same  courses  together,  and  I'll  not 
turn  upon  them,  who  might — any  of  them — have 
turned  upon  me,  but  didn't,  bad  as  they  are." 

"  Then,"  said  the  gentleman,  quickly,  as  if  this  had 


been  the  point  he  had  been  aiming  to  attain,  "put 
Monks  into  my  hands,  and  leave  him  to  me  to  deal 
with." 

"  What  if  he  turns  against  the  others  ?" 

"  I  promise  you  that  in  that  case,  if  the  truth  is 
forced  from  him,  there  the  matter  will  rest ;  there 
must  be  circumstances  in  Oliver's  little  history 
which  it  would  be  painful  to  drag  before  the  public- 
eye,  and,  if  the  truth  is  once  elicited,  they  shall  go 
scot  free." 

"And  if  it  is  not  ?"  suggested  the  girl. 

"Then, "pursued  the  gentleman,  "  this  Fagin  shall 
not  be  brought  to  justice  without  your  consent.  In 
such  a  case  I  could  show  you  reasons,  I  think,  which 
would  induce  you  to  yield  it." 

"  Have  I  the  lady's  promise  for  that  ?"  asked  the 
girl. 

"  You  have,"  replied  Rose.  "  My  true  and  faithful 
pledge." 

"  Monks  would  never  learn  how  you  knew  what 
you  do  ?"  said  the  girl,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  Never,"  replied  the  gentleman.  "  The  intelli 
gence  should  be  so  brought  to  bear  upon  him  that 
he  could  never  even  guess." 

"  I  have  been  a  liar,  and  among  liars  from  a  little 
child,"  said  the  girl,  after  another  interval  of  silence, 
"  but  I  will  take  your  words." 

After  receiving  an  assurance  from  both  that  she 
might  safely  do  so,  she  proceeded,  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  it  was  often  difficult  for  the  listener  to  discover 
even  the  purport  of  what  she  said,  to  describe,  by 
name  and  situation,  the  public -house  whence  she 
had  been  followed  that  night.  From  the  manner  in 
which  she  occasionally  paused,  it  appeared  as  if  the 
gentleman  were  making  some  hasty  notes  of  the  in 
formation  she  communicated.  When  she  had  thor 
oughly  explained  the  localities  of  the  place,  the  best 
position  from  which  to  watch  it  without  exciting  ob 
servation,  and  the  night  and  hour  on  which  Monks 
was  most  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  it,  she  seemed 
to  consider  for  a  few  moments,  for  the  purpose  of  re 
calling  his  features  and  appearance  more  forcibly  t<> 
her  recollection. 

"  He  is  tall,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  a  strongly  made 
man,  but  not  stout ;  he  has  a  lurking  \valk ;  and.  as 
he  walks,  constantly  looks  over  his  shoulder,  first  on 
one  side,  and  then  on  the  other.  Don't  forget  that, 
for  his  eyes  are  sunk  in  his  head  so  much  deeper 
than  any  other  man's  that  you  might  almost  tell 
him  by  that  alone.  His  face  is  dark,  like  his  hair 
and  eyes;  and,  although  he  can't  be  more  than  six 
or  eight  and  twenty,  withered  and  haggard.  His 
lips  are  often  discolored  and  disfigured  with  the 
marks  of  teeth ;  for  lie  has  desperate  fits,  and  some 
times  even  bites  his  hands  and  covers  them  with 
wounds — why  did  you  start?"  said  the  girl,  stopping 
suddenly. 

The  gentleman  replied,  in  a  hurried  manner,  that 
he  was  not  conscious  of  having  done  so,  and  begged 
her  to  proceed. 

"  Part  of  this,"  said  the  girl,  "  I've  drawn  out  from 
other  people  at  the  house  I  tell  you  of,  for  I  have  only 
seen  him  twice,  and  both  times  he  was  covered  up  in 
a  large  cloak.  I  think  that's  all  I  can  give  you  to 
know  him  by.  Stay,  though."  she  added.  "  Upon 
his  throat,  so  high  that  you  can  see  a  part  of  it  be- 


THE  SPY  MAKES  OFF  WITH  NEJTS. 


147 


low  his  neckerchief  when  he  turns  his  face,  there 
is—" 

"A  broad  red  mark,  like  a  burn  or  scald,"  cried  the 
gentleman. 

"  How's  this  ?"  said  the  girl.     "  Yon  know  him  !" 

The  young  lady  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise,  and  for  a 
few  moments  they  were  so  still  that  the  listener  could 
distinctly  hear  them  breathe. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  the  gentleman,  breaking  si 
lence.  "  I  should  by  your  description.  We  shall 
see.  Many  people  are  singularly  like  each  other. 
It  may  not  be  the  same." 

As  he  expressed  himself  to  this  effect  with  assumed 
carelessness,  he  took  a  step  or  two  nearer  the  con 
cealed  spy,  as  the  latter  could  tell  from  the  distinct 
ness  with  which  he  heard  him  mutter,  "  It  must  be 
he!" 

"  Now,"  he  said,  returning,  so  it  seemed  by  the 
sound,  to  the  spot  where  he  had  stood  before,  "  you 
have  given  us  most  valuable  assistance,  young  wom 
an,  and  I  wish  you  to  be  the  better  for  it.  What 
can  I  do  to  serve  you  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  You  will  not  persist  in  saying  that,"  rejoined  the 
gentleman,  with  a  voice  and  emphasis  of  kindness 
that  might  have  touched  a  much  harder  and  more 
obdurate  heart.  "  Think  now.  Tell  me." 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  rejoined  the  girl,  weeping.  "  You 
can  do  nothing  to  help  me.  I  am  past  all  hope,  in 
deed." 

"  You  put  yourself  beyond  its  pale,"  said  the  gen 
tleman.  "The  past  has  been  a  dreary  waste  with 
you,  of  youthful  energies  misspent,  and  such  price 
less  treasures  lavished,  as  the  Creator  bestows  but 
once  and  never  grants  again,  but,  for  the  future,  you 
may  hope.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  in  our  power  to 
otter  you  peace  of  heart  and  mind,  for  that  must 
come  as  you  seek  it ;  but  a  quiet  asylum,  either  in 
England,  or,  if  you  fear  to  remain  here,  in  some  for 
eign  country,  it  is  not  only  within  the  compass  of 
our  ability  but  our  most  anxious  wish  to  secure  you. 
Before  the  dawn  of  morning,  before  this  river  wakes 
to  the  first  glimpse  of  daylight,  you  shall  be  placed 
as  entirely  beyond  the  reach  of  your  former  asso 
ciates,  and  leave  as  utter  an  absence  of  all  trace  be 
hind  you,  as  if  you  were  to  disappear  from  the  earth 
this  moment.  Come !  I  would  not  have  you  go  back 
to  exchange  one  word  with  any  old  companion,  or 
take  one  look  at  any  old  haunt,  or  breathe  the  very 
air  which  is  pestilence  and  death  to  you.  Quit  them 
all,  while  there  is  time  and  opportunity !" 

"  She  will  be  persuaded  now,"  cried  the  young  lady. 
"  She  hesitates,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  fear  not,  my  dear,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not,"  replied  the  girl,  after  a  short 
struggle.  "  I  am  chained  to  my  old  life.  I  loathe 
and  hate  it  now,  but  I  can  not  leave  it.  I  must 
have  gone  too  far  to  turn  back — and  yet  I  don't 
know ;  for  if  you  had  spoken  to  me  so  some  time 
ago,  I  should  have  laughed  it  off.  But,"  she  said, 
looking  hastily  round,  "this  fear  comes  over  me 
again.  I  must  go  home." 

"Home!"  repeated  the  young  lady,  with  great 
stress  upon  the  word. 

"  Home,  lady,"  rejoined  the  girl.  "  To  such  a 
home  as  I  have  raised  for  mvself  with  the  work  of 


my  whole  life.  Let  us  part.  I  shall  be  watched  or 
seen.  Go !  Go !  If  I  have  done  you  any  service,  all 
I  ask  is,  that  you  leave  me,  and  let  me  go  my  way 
alone." 

"  It  is  useless,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  sigh. 
"  We  compromise  her  safety,  perhaps,  by  staving 
here.  We  may  have  detained  her  longer  than  she 
expected  already." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  urged  the  girl.     "  You  have." 

"  What,"  cried  the  young  lady,  "  can  be  the  end 
of  this  poor  creature's  life !" 

"What!"  repeated  the  girl.  "Look  before  you, 
lady.  Look  at  that  dark  water.  How  many  times 
do  you  read  of  such  as  I  who  spring  into  the  tide, 
and  leave  no  living  thing  to  care  for  or  bewail  them. 
It  may  be  years  hence,  or  it  may  be  only  months,  but 
I  shall  come  to  that  at  last." 

"Do  not  speak  thus,  pray,"  returned  the  young 
lady,  sobbing. 

"  It  will  never  reach  your  ears,  dear  lady,  and 
God  forbid  such  horrors  should!"  replied  the  girl. 
"  Good-night,  good-night !" 

The  gentleman  turned  away. 

"This  purse,"  cried  the  young  lady.  "Take  it 
for  my  sake,  that  you  may  have  some  resource  in  an 
hour  of  need  and  trouble !" 

"  No !"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  have  not  done  this  for 
money.  Let  me  have  that  to  think  of.  And  yet — 
give  me  something  that  you  have  worn:  I  should 
like  to  have  soniethiug— no,  no,  not  a  ring — your 
gloves  or  handkerchief — any  thing  that  I  can  keep, 
as  having  belonged  to  you,  sweet  lady.  There. 
Bless  you!  God  bless  you!  Good -night,  good 
night  !" 

The  violent  agitation  of  the  girl,  and  the  appre 
hension  of  some  discovery  which  would  subject  her 
to  ill-usage  and  violence,  seemed  to  determine  the 
gentleman  to  leave  her  as  she  requested.  The 
sounds  of  retreating  footsteps  were  audible,  and  the 
voices  ceased. 

The  two  figures  of  the  young  lady  and  her  com 
panion  soon  afterward  appeared  upon  the  bridge. 
They  stopped  at  the  summit  of  the  stairs. 

"Hark!"  cried  the  young  lady,  listeuing.  "Did 
she  call  ?  I  thought  I  heard  her  voice." 

"No,  my  love,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow,  looking  sad 
ly  back.  "  She  has  not  moved,  and  will  not  till  we 
are  gone." 

Rose  Maylie  lingered,  but  the  old  gentleman  drew 
her  arm  through  his,  and  led  her,  with  gentle  force, 
away.  As  they  disappeared,  the  girl  sunk  down 
nearly  at  her  full  length  upon  one  of  the  stone 
stairs,  and  vented  the  anguish  of  her  heart  in  bitter 
tears. 

After  a  time  she  arose,  and  with  feeble  and  totter 
ing  steps  ascended  to  the  street.  The  astonished 
listener  remained  motionless  on  his  post  for  some 
minutes  afterward,  and  having  ascertained,  with 
many  cautions  glances  round  him,  that  he  was  again 
alone,  crept  slowly  from  his  hiding-place,  and  return 
ed  stealthily  and  in  the  shade  of  the  wall,  in  the 
same  manner  as  he  had  descended. 

Peeping  out  more  than  once,  when  he  reached  the 
top,  to  make  sure  that  he  was  unobserved,  Noah  Clay- 
pole  darted  away  at  his  utmost  speed,  and  made  for 
the  Jew's  house  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him. 


148 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

.FATAL    CONSEQUENCES. 

IT  was  nearly  two  hours  before  day-break — that 
time  which  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  may  be 
truly  called  the  dead  of  night,  when  the  streets  are 
silent  and  deserted,  when  even  sounds  appear  to 
slumber,  and  profligacy  and  riot  have  staggered 
home  to  dream ;  it  was  at  this  still  and  silent  hour 
that  Fagin  sat  watching  in  his  old  lair,  with  face  so 
distorted  and  pale,  and  eyes  so  red  and  bloodshot, 
that  he  looked  leas  like  a  man  than  like  some  hid 
eous  phantom  moist  from  the  grave,  and  worried  by 
an  evil  spirit. 

He  sat  crouching  over  a  cold  hearth,  wrapped  in 
an  old  torn  coverlet,  with  his  face  turned  toward  a 
wasting  candle  that  stood  upon  a  table  by  his  side. 
His  right  hand  was  raised  to  his  lips,  and  as,  absorb 
ed  in  thought,  he  bit  his  long  black  nails,  he  dis 
closed  among  his  toothless  gums  a  few  such  fangs  as 
should  have  been  a  dog's  or  rat's. 

Stretched  upon  a  mattress  on  the  floor  lay  Noah 
Claypole,  fast  asleep.  Toward  him  the  old  man 
sometimes  directed  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  then 
brought  them  back  again  to  the  candle,  which  with 
a  long-burnt  wick  drooping  almost  double,  and  hot 
grease  falling  down  in  clots  upon  the  table,  plainly 
showed  that  his  thoughts  were  busy  elsewhere. 

Indeed  they  were.  Mortification  at  the  overthrow 
of  his  notable  scheme ;  hatred  of  the  girl  who  had 
dared  to  palter  with  strangers ;  an  utter  distrust  of 
the  sincerity  of  her  refusal  to  yield  him  up ;  bitter 
disappointment  at  the  loss  of  his  revenge  on  Sikes ; 
the  fear  of  detection,  and  ruin,  and  death;  and  a 
fierce  and  deadly  rage  kindled  by  all ;  these  were 
the  passionate  considerations  which,  following  close 
upon  each  other  with  rapid  and  ceaseless  whirl,  shot 
through  the  brain  of  Fagiu,  as  every  evil  thought 
and  blackest  purpose  lay  working  at  his  heart. 

He  sat  without  changing  his  attitude  in  the  least, 
or  appearing  to  take  the  smallest  heed  of  time,  until 
his  quick  ear  seemed  to  be  attracted  by  a  footstep  in 
the  street. 

"At  last,"  he  muttered,  wiping  his  dry  and  fever 
ed  mouth.  "At  last!" 

The  bell  rang  gently  as  he  spoke.  He  crept  up 
stairs  to  the  door,  and  presently  returned  accompa 
nied  by  a  man  muffled  to  the  chin,  who  carried  a 
bundle  under  one  arm.  Sitting  down  and  throwing 
back  his  outer  coat,  the  man  displayed  the  burly 
frame  of  Sikes. 

"  There !"  he  said,  laying  the  bundle  on  the  table. 
"  Take  care  of  that,  and  do  the  most  you  can  with  it. 
It's  been  trouble  enough  to  get ;  I  thought  I  should 
have  been  here  three  hours  ago." 

Fagin  laid  his  hand  upon  the  bundle,  and  locking 
it  in  the  cupboard,  sat  down  again  without  speaking. 
But  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  robber  for  an  in- 
stnnt  during  this  action  ;  and  now  that  they  sat  over 
against  each  other,  fact-  to  face,  he  looked  fixedly  at 
him,  with  his  lips  quivering  so  violently,  and  his  face 
so  altered  by  the  emotions  which  had  mastered  him, 
that  the  house-breaker  involuntarily  drew  back  his 
chair,  and  surveyed  him  with  a  look  of  real  affright. 

"  Wot  now  ?"  cried  Sikes.  "  Wot  do  you  look  at 
a  man  so  for?" 


Fagin  raised  his  right  hand  and  shook  his  trem 
bling  forefinger  in  the  air ;  but  his  passion  was  so 
great  that  the  power  of  speech  was  for  the  moment 
gone. 

"  Damme !"  said  Sikes,  feeling  in  his  breast  with  a 
look  of  alarm.  "  He's  gone  mad.  I  must  look  to 
myself  here." 

"  No,  no,"  rejoined  Fagin,  finding  his  voice.  "  It's 
not — you're  not  the  person,  Bill.  I've  no — no  fault 
to  find  with  you." 

"  Oh,  you  haven't,  haven't  you  ?"  said  Sikes,  look 
ing  sternly  at  him,  and  ostentatiously  passing  a  pis 
tol  into  a  more  convenient  pocket.  "  That's  lucky — 
for  one  of  us.  Which  one  that  is,  don't  matter." 

"  I've  got  that  to  tell  you,  Bill,"  said  Fagiu,  draw 
ing  his  chair  nearer,  "will  make  you  worse  than  me." 

"Ay?"  returned  the  robber,  with  an  incredulous 
air.  "  Tell  away !  Look  sharp,  or  Nance  will  think 
I'm  lost," 

"  Lost !"  cried  Fagin.  "  She  has  pretty  well  set 
tled  that  in  her  own  mind  already." 

Sikes  looked  with  an  aspect  of  great  perplexity 
into  the  Jew's  face,  and  reading  no  satisfactory  ex 
planation  of  the  riddle  there,  clenched  his  coat-col 
lar  in  his  huge  hand  and  shook  him  soundly. 

"  Speak,  will  you !"  he  said ;  "  or,  if  you  don't,  it 
shall  be  for  want  of  breath.  Open  your  mouth  and 
say  wot  you've  got  to  say  in  plain  words.  Out  with 
it,  you  thundering  old  cur — out  with  it !" 

"  Suppose  that  lad  that's  lying  there — "  Fagiu  be 
gan. 

Sikes  turned  round  to  where  Noah  was  sleeping, 
as  if  he  had  not  previously  observed  him.  "  Well !" 
he  said,  resuming  his  former  position. 

"  Suppose  that  lad,"  pursued  Fagin,  "  was  to  peach 
— to  blow  upon  us  all — first  seeking  out  the  right 
folks  for  the  purpose,  and  then  having  a  meeting 
with  'em  in  the  street  to  paint  our  likenesses,  de 
scribe  every  mark  that  they  might  know  us  by,  and 
the  crib  where  we  might  be  most  easily  taken.  Sup 
pose  he  was  to  do  all  this,  and  besides,  to  blow  upon 
a  plant  we've  all  been  in  more  or  less — of  his  own 
fancy;  not  grabbed,  trapped,  tried,  ear  wished  by 
the  parson  and  brought  to  it  on  bread-and-water — 
but  of  his  own  fancy ;  to  please  his  own  taste ;  steal 
ing  out  at  nights  to  find  those  most  interested  against 
us,  and  peaching  to  them.  Do  you  hear  me  ?"  cried 
the  Jew,  his  eyes  flashing  with  rage.  "  Suppose  he- 
did  all  this,  what  then?" 

"  What  then !"  replied  Sikes,  with  a  tremendous 
oath.  "  If  he  was  left  alive  till  I  came,  I'd  grind  his 
skull  under  the  iron  heel  of  my  boot  into  as  many 
grains  as  there  are  hairs  upon  his  head." 

"  What  if  I  did  it !"  cried  Fagiu,  almost  in  a  yell. 
"7,  that  know  so  much,  and  could  hang  so  many  be 
sides  myself!" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Sikes,  clenching  his  teeth 
and  turning  white  at  the  mere  suggestion.  "  I'd  do 
something  in  the  jail  that  'ml  get  me  put  in  irons ; 
and  if  I  was  tried  along  with  you,  I'd  fall  upon  you 
with  them  in  the  open  court,  and  beat  your  brains 
out  afore  the  people.  I  should  have  such  strength," 
muttered  the  robber,  poising  his  brawny  arm,  "  that 
I  could  smash  your  head  as  if  a  loaded  wagon  had 
gone  over  it." 

"  You  would  ?" 


GOADING   THE   WILD  BEAST. 


149 


"  Would  I !"  said  the  house-breaker.     "  Try  me." 

"  If  it  was  Charley,  or  the  Dodger,  or  Bet,  or — : 

"  I  don't  care  who,"  replied  Sikes,  impatiently. 
"  Whoever  it  was,  I'd  serve  them  the  same." 

Fagin  looked  hard  at  the  robber ;  and,  motioning 
him  to  be  silent,  stooped  over  the  bed  upon  the  floor 
and  shook  the  sleeper  to  rouse  him.  Sikes  leaned 
forward  in  his  chair,  looking  on  with  his  hands  upon 
his  knees,  as  if  wondering  much  what  all  this  ques 
tioning  and  preparation  was  to  end  in. 

"  Bolter,  Bolter !  Poor  lad !"  said  Fagin,  looking 
up  with  an  expression  of  devilish  anticipation,  and 
speaking  slowly  and  with  marked  emphasis.  "  He's 
tired— tired  with  watching  for  her  so  long — watch 
ing  for  her,  Bill." 

"  Wot  d'ye  mean  ?"  asked  Sikes,  drawing  back. 

Fagin  made  no  answer,  but  bending  over  the  sleep 
er  again,  hauled  him  into  a  sitting  posture.  When 
his  assumed  name  had  been  repeated  several  times, 
Noah  rubbed  his  eyes,  and,  giving  a  heavy  yawn, 
looked  sleepily  about  him. 

"Tell  me  that  again — once  again,  just  for  him  to 
hear,"  said  the  Jew,  pointing  to  Sikes  as  he  spoke. 

"  Tell  yer  what  ?"  asked  the  sleepy  Noah,  shaking 
himself  pettishly. 

"  That  about — NANCY,"  said  Fagin,  clutching  Sikes 
by  the  wrist,  as  if  to  prevent  his  leaving  the  house 
before  he  had  heard  enough.  "  You  followed  her  t" 

"  Yes." 

"  To  London  Bridge  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  she  met  two  people  ?" 

"  So  she  did." 

"A  gentleman  and  lady  that  she  had  gone  to  of 
her  own  accord  before,  who  asked  her  to  give  up  all 
her  pals,  and  Monks  first,  which  she  did— and  to  de 
scribe  him,  which  she  did — and  to  tell  her  what  house 
it  was  that  we  meet  at,  and  go  to,  which  she  did — 
and  where  it  could  be  best  watched  from,  which  she 
did — and  what  time  the  people  went  there,  which  she 
did.  She  did  all  this.  She  told  it  all,  every  word, 
without  a  threat,  without  a  murmur— she  did — did 
she  not  ?"  cried  Fagin,  half  mad  with  fury. 

"All  right,"  replied  Noah,  scratching  his  head. 
"  That's  just  what  it  was !" 

"  What  did  they  say  about  last  Sunday  ?" 

"  About  last  Sunday  ?"  replied  Noah,  considering. 
"  Why  I  told  yer  that  before." 

"Again.  'Tell  it  again!"  cried  Fagin,  tightening 
his  grasp  on  Sikes,  and  brandishing  his  other  hand 
aloft,  as  the  foam  flew  from  his  lips. 

"  They  asked  her,"  said  Noah,  who,  as  he  grew 
more  wakeful,  seemed  to  have  a  dawning  perception 
who  Sikes  was,  "  they  asked  her  why  she  didn't  come 
last  Sunday,  as  she  promised.  She  said  she  couldn't." 

"  Why— why  ?     Tell  him  that." 

"  Because  she  was  forcibly  kept  at  home  by  Bill, 
the  man  she  had  told  them  of  before,"  replied  Noah. 

"  What  more  of  him  ?"  cried  Fagiu.  "  What  more 
of  the  man  she  had  told  them  of  before  ?  Tell  him 
that,  tell  him  that." 

"  Why,  that  she  couldn't  very  easily  get  out-of- 
doors  unless  he  knew  where  she  was  going  to,"  said 
Noah ;  "  and  so  the  first  time  she  went  to  see  the  lady, 
she — ha !  ha !  ha !  it  made  me  laugh  when  she  said 
it,  that  it  did — she  gave  him  a  diluk  of  laudauum !" 


"  Hell's  fire !"  cried  Sikes,  breaking  fiercely  from 
the  Jew.  "  Let  me  go !" 

Flinging  the  old  man  from  him,  he  rushed  from  the 
room,  and  darted,  wildly  and  furiously,  up  the  stairs. 

"  Bill,  Bill !"  cried  Fagiu,  following  him  hastily. 
"A  word.  Only  a  word." 

The  word  would  not  have  been  exchanged,  but 
that  the  house-breaker  was  unable  to  open  the  door, 
on  which  he  was  expending  fruitless  oaths  and  vio 
lence,  when  the  Jew  came  panting  up. 

"  Let  me  out !"  said  Sikes.  "  Don't  speak  to  me ; 
it's  not  safe.  Let  me  out,  I  say !" 

"  Hear  me  speak  a  word,"  rejoined  Fagin,  laying 
his  hand  upon  the  lock.  "  You  won't  be — " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other. 

"  You  won't  be — too — violent,  Bill  ?" 

The  day  was  breaking,  and  there  was  light  enough 
for  the  men  to  see  each  other's  faces.  They  ex 
changed  one  brief  glance ;  there  was  a  fire  in  the  eyes 
of  both  which  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Fagiu,  showing  that  he  felt  all  dis 
guise  was  now  useless,  "  not  too  violent  for  safety. 
Be  crafty,  Bill,  and  not  too  bold." 

Sikes  made  no  reply ;  but,  pulling  open  the  door 
of  which  Fagin  had  turned  the  lock,  dashed  into  the 
silent  streets. 

Without  one  pause,  or  moment's  consideration  ; 
without  once  turning  his  head  to  the  right  or  left,  or 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  sky,  or  lowering  them  to  the 
ground,  but  looking  straight  before  him  with  savage 
resolution,  his  teeth  so  tightly  compressed  that  the 
strained  jaw  seemed  starting  through  his  skin,  the 
robber  held  on  his  headlong  course,  nor  muttered  a 
word,  nor  relaxed  a  muscle,  until  he  reached  his  own 
door.  He  opened  it  softly  with  a  key,  strode  lightly 
up  the  stairs,  and,  entering  his  own  room,  double- 
locked  the  door,  and  lifting  a  heavy  table  against  it, 
drew  back  the  curtain  of  the  bed. 

The  girl  was  lying,  half-dressed,  upon  it.  He  had 
roused  her  from  her  sleep,  for  she  raised  herself  with 
a  hurried  and  startled  look. 

"  Get  up !"  said  the  man. 

"  It  is  you,  Bill !"  said  the  girl,  with  an  expression 
of  pleasure  at  his  return. 

"  It  is,"  was  the  reply.     "  Get  up !" 

There  was  a  candle  burning,  but  the  man  hastily 
drew  it  from  the  candlestick  and  hurled  it  under  the 
grate.  Seeing  the  faint  light  of  early  day  without, 
the  girl  rose  to  undraw  the  curtain. 

"  Let  it  be,"  said  Sikes,  thrusting  his  hand  before 
her.  "  There's  light  enough  for  wot  I've  got  to  do." 

"  Bill,"  said  the  girl,  in  the  low  voice  of  alarm, 
"  why  do  you  look  like  that  at  me  ?" 

The  robber  sat  regarding  her  for  a  few  seconds 
with  dilated  nostrils  and  heaving  breast;  and  then, 
grasping  her  by  the  head  and  throat,  dragged  her 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  looking  once  toward 
the  door,  placed  his  heavy  hand  upon  her  mouth. 

"Bill!  Bill!"  gasped  the  girl,  wrestling  with  the 
strength  of  mortal  fear — "  I — I  won't  scream  or  cry 
— not  once — hear  me — speak  to  me — tell  rue  what  I 
have  done." 

"  You  know,  you  she-devil !"  returned  the  robber, 
suppressing  his  breath.  "You  were  watched  to 
night  ;  every  word  you  said  was  heard." 

"  Then  spare  my  life  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  as  I 


150 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


spared  yours,"  rejoined  the  girl,  clinging  to  him. 
"  Bill,  dear  Bill,  you  can  not  have  the  heart  to  kill 
me !  Oh !  think  of  all  I  have  given  up,  only  this  one 
night,  for  you.  You  shall  have  time  to  think,  and 
save  yourself  this  crime ;  I  will  not  loose  my  hold, 
you  can  not  throw  me  off.  Bill,  Bill,  for  dear  God's 
sake,  for  your  own,  for  mine,  stop  before  you  spill  my 
blood !  I  have  been  true  to  you,  upon  my  guilty 
soul  I  have !" 

The  man  struggled  violently  to  release  his  arms ; 
but  those  of  the  girl  were  clasped  round  his,  and,  tear 
her  as  lie  would,  he  could  not  tear  them  away. 

"  Bill,"  cried  the  girl,  striving  to  lay  her  head  upon 
his  breast,  "  the  gentleman  and  that  dear  lady  told 
me  to-night  of  a  home  in  some  foreign  country  where 
I  could  end  my  days  in  solitude  and  peace.  Let  me 
see  them  again,  and  beg  them  on  my  knees  to  show 
the  same  mercy  and  goodness  to  you  ;  and  let  us  both 
leave  this  dreadful  place,  and,  far  apart,  lead  better 
lives,  and  forget  how  we  have  lived,  except  in  prayers, 
and  never  see  each  other  more.  It  is  never  too  late 
to  repent.  They  told  me  so — I  feel  it  now ;  but  we 
must  have  time — a  little,  little  time !" 

The  house-breaker  freed  one  arm,  and  grasped  his 
pistol.  The  certainty  of  immediate  detection  if  he 
tired,  flashed  across  his  mind  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  fury,  and  he  beat  it  twice,  with  all  the  force  he 
could  summon,  upon  the  upturned  face  that  almost 
touched  his  own. 

She  staggered  and  fell,  nearly  blinded  with  the 
blood  that  rained  down  from  a  deep  gash  in  her 
forehead;  but  raising  herself  with  difficulty  on  her 
knees,  drew  from  her  bosom  a  white  handkerchief — 
Rose  Maylie's  own — and  holding  it  up,  in  her  folded 
hands,  as  high  toward  heaven  as  her  feeble  strength 
would  allow,  breathed  one  prayer  for  mercy  to  her 
Maker. 

It  was  a  ghastly  figure  to  look  upon.  The  mur 
derer  staggering  backward  to  the  wall,  and  shutting 
out  the  sight  with  his  hand,  seized  a  heavy  club  and 
struck  her  down. 


CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

THE    FLIGHT    OF    SIKES. 

OF  all  bad  deed.s  that,  under  cover  of  the  dark 
ness,  had  been  committed  within  wide  London's 
bounds  since  night  hung  over  it,  that  was  the  worst. 
Of  all  the  horrors  that  rose  with  an  ill  scent  upon  the 
morning  air,  that  was  the  foulest  and  most  cruel. 

The  sun — the  bright  sun,  that  brings  back,  not 
light  alone,  but  new  life,  and  hope,  and  freshness  to 
man — burst  upon  the  crowded  city  in  clear  and  ra 
diant  glory.  Through  costly-colored  glass  and  pa 
per  -  mended  window,  through  cathedral  dome  and 
rotten  crevice,  it  shed  its  equal  ray.  It  lighted  up 
the  room  where  the  murdered  woman  lay.  It  did. 
He  tried  to  shut  it  out,  but  it  would  stream  in.  If 
the  sight  had  been  a  ghastly  one  in  the  dull  morn- 
iiig,  what  was  it  now,  in  all  that  brilliant  light ! 

He  had  not  moved ;  he  had  been  afraid  to  stir. 
There  had  been  a  moan  and  motion  of  the  hand,  and, 
with  terror  added  to  rage,  he  had  struck  and  struck 
again.  O:ice  he  threw  a  rug  over  it ;  but  it  was 
worse  to  fancy  the  eyes,  and  imagine  them  moving 


towai'd  him,  than  to  see  them  glaring  upward,  as 
if  watching  the  reflection  of  the  pool  of  gore  that 
quivered  and  danced  in  the  sunlight  on  the  ceiling. 
He  had  plucked  it  off  again.  And  there  was  the 
body  —  mere  flesh  and  blood,  no  more  —  but  such 
flesh,  and  so  much  blood ! 

He  struck  a  light,  kindled  the  fire,  and  thrust  the 
club  into  it.  There  was  hair  upon  the  end,  which 
blazed  and  shrunk  into  a  light  cinder,  and,  caught  by 
the  air,  whirled  up  the  chimney.  Even  that  fright 
ened  him,  sturdy  as  he  was  ;  but  he  held  the  weapon 
till  it  broke,  and  then  piled  it  on  the  coals  to  burn 
away,  and  smoulder  into  ashes.  He  washed  himself, 
and  rubbed  his  clothes;  there  were  spots  that  would 
not  be  removed,  but  he  cut  the  pieces  out,  and  burned 
them.  How  those  stains  were  dispersed  about  the 
room !  The  very  feet  of  the  dog  were  bloody. 

All  this  time  he  had  never  once  turned  his  back 
upon  the  corpse ;  no,  not  for  a  moment.  Such  prepa 
rations  completed,  he  moved  backward  toward  the 
door,  dragging  the  dog  with  him,  lest  he  should  soil 
his  feet  anew  and  carry  out  new  evidences  of  the 
crime  into  the  streets.  He  shut  the  door  softly, 
locked  it,  took  the  key,  and  left  the  house. 

He  crossed  over,  and  glanced  up  at  the  window, 
to  be  sure  that  nothing  was  visible  from  the  outside. 
There  was  the  curtain  still  drawn,  which  she  would 
have  opened  to  admit  the  light  she  never  saw  again. 
It  lay  nearly  under  there.  He  knew  that.  God.  how 
the  sun  poured  down  upon  the  very  spot ! 

The  glance  was  instantaneous.  It  was  a  relief  to 
have  got  free  of  the  room.  He  whistled  on  the  dog, 
and  walked  rapidly  away. 

lie  went  through  Islington ;  strode  up  the  hill  at 
Highgate  on  which  stands  the  stone  in  honor  of 
Whittingtoii ;  turned  down  to  Highgate  Hill,  un 
steady  of  purpose,  .and  uncertain  where  to  go ;  struck 
off  to  the  right  again  almost  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
descend  it ;  and  taking  the  foot-path  across  the  fields, 
skirted  Caen  Wood,  and  so  came  out  on  Hampstead 
Heath.  Traversing  the  hollow  by  the  Vale  of  Health, 
he  mounted  the  opposite  bank,  and,  crossing  the  road 
which  joins  the  villages  of  Hampstead  and  Highgate, 
made  along  the  remaining  portion  of  the  Heath  to  the 
fields  at  North  End,  in  one  of  which  he  laid  himself 
down  under  a  hedge  and  slepr. 

Soon  he  was  up  again  and  away — not  far  into  the 
country,  but  back  toward  London  by  the  high-road — 
then  back  again — then  over  another  part  of  the  same 
ground  as  he  already  traversed — then  wandering  up 
and  down  in  fields,  and  lying  on  ditches'  brinks  to 
rest,  and  starting  up  to  make  for  some  other  spot  and 
do  the  same,  and  ramble  on  again. 

Where  could  he  go  that  was  near  and  not  too  pub 
lic,  to  get  some  meat  and  drink  ?  Hendon.  That 
was  a  good  place,  not  far  oft",  and  out  of  most  peo 
ple's  way.  Thither  he  directed  his  steps — running 
sometimes,  and  sometimes,  with  a  strange  perversi 
ty,  loitering  at  a  snail's  pace,  or  stopping  altogether 
and  idly  breaking  the  hedges  with  his  stick.  But 
when  he  got  there,  all  the  people  he  met — the  very 
children  at  the  doors — seemed  to  view  him  with  sus 
picion.  Back  he  turned  again,  without  the  courage 
to  purchase  bit  or  drop,  though  he  had  tasted  no  food 
for  many  hours ;  and  once  more  he  lingered  on  the 
Heath,  uncertain  where  to  go. 


THE  PEDDLER  OF  ALL  WARES. 


151 


He  wandered  over  miles  .and  miles  of  ground,  and 
still  came  back  to  the  old  place.  Morning  and  noon 
had  passed,  and  the  day  was  on  the  wane,  and  still 
he  rambled  to  and  fro,  and  up  and  down,  and  round 
and  round,  and  still  lingered  about  the  same  spot. 
At  last  he  got  away,  and  shaped  his  course  for  Hat- 
tield. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  at  night,  when  the  man,  quite 
tired  out,  and  the  dog,  limping  and  lame  from  the 
unaccustomed  exercise,  turned  down  the  hill  by  the 
church  of  the  quiet  village,  and  plodding  along  the 
little  street,  crept  into  a  small  public-house,  whose 
scanty  light  had  guided  them  to  the  spot.  There 
was  a  fire  in  the  tap-room,  and  some  country -labor- 


There  was  nothing  to  attract  attention  or  excite 
alarm  in  this.  The  robber,  after  paying  his  reckon 
ing,  sat  silent  and  unnoticed  in  his  corner,  and  had 
almost  dropped  asleep,  when  he  was  half  wakened 
by  the  noisy  entrance  of  a  new-comer. 

This  was  an  antic  fellow,  half  peddler  and  half 
mountebank,  who  traveled  about  the  country  on 
foot  to  vend  hones,  strops,  razors,  wash-balls,  har 
ness-paste,  medicine  for  dogs  and  horses,  cheap  per 
fumery,  cosmetics,  and  such -like  wares,  which  he 
carried  in  a  case  slung  to  his  back.  His  entrance 
was  the  signal  for  various  homely  jokes  with  the 
countrymen,  which  slackened  not  until  he  had  made 
his  supper,  and  opened  his  box  of  treasures,  when  lie 


"  HE   MOVED   UACKWAKI 


ers  were  drinking  before  it.  They  made  room  for 
the  stranger,  but  he  sat  down  in  the  farthest  corner, 
and  ate  and  drank  alone,  or  rather  with  his  dog,  to 
whom  he  cast  a  morsel  of  food  from  time  to  time. 

The  conversation  of  the  men  assembled  here  turn 
ed  upon  the  neighboring  laud  and  fanners ;  and  when 
those  topics  were  exhausted,  upon  the  age  of  some 
old  man  who  had  been  buried  on  the  previous  Sun 
day  ;  the  young  men  present  considering  him  very 
old,  and  the  old  men  present  declaring  him  to  have 
been  quite  young — not  older,  one  white-haired  grand 
father  said,  than  he  was — with  ten  or  fifteen  year  of 
life  in  him  at  least — if  he  had  taken  care ;  if  he  had 
taken  care. 


WITH    HIM. 


ingeniously  contrived  to  unite  business  with  amuse 
ment. 

"  And  what  be  that  stoof  ?  Good  to  eat,  Harry  ?" 
asked  a  grinning  countryman,  pointing  to  some  com 
position-cakes  in  one  corner. 

"  This,"  said  the  fellow,  producing  one,  "  this  is  the 
infallible  and  invaluable  composition  for  removing 
all  sorts  of  stain,  rust,  dirt,  mildew,  spick,  speck,  spot, 
or  spatter,  from  silk,  satin,  linen,  cambric,  cloth,  crape, 
stuff,  carpet,  merino,  muslin,  bombazine,  or  woolen 
stuff.  Wine-stains,  fruit-stains,  beer-stains,  water- 
stains,  paint-stains,  pitch-stains,  any  stains,  all  come 
out  at  one  rub  with  the  infallible  and  invaluable 
composition.  If  a  lady  stains  her  honor,  she,has  only 


152 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


need  to  swallow  one  cake,  and  she's  cured  at  once — 
for  it's  poison.  Jf  a  gentleman  wants  to  prove  this, 
he  has  only  need  to  bolt  one  little  square,  and  he  has 
put  ic  beyond  question — for  it's  quite  as  satisfacto 
ry  as  a  pistol-bullet,  and  a  great  deal  nastier  in  the 
flavor,  consequently  the  more  credit  in  taking  it. 
One  penny  a  square.  With  all  these  virtues,  one 
penny  a  square !" 

There  were  two  buyers  directly,  and  more  of  the 
listeners  plainly  hesitated.  The  vender  observing 
this,  increased  in  loquacity. 

"It's  all  bought  up  as  fast  as  it  can  be  made," 
said  the  fellow.  "  There  are  fourteen  water-mills, 
six  steam-engines,  and  a  galvanic  battery,  always 
a-working  upon  it,  and  they  can't  make  it  fast  enough, 
though  the  men  work  so  hard  that  they  die  off,  and 
the  widows  is  pensioned  directly,  with  twenty  pound 
a  year  for  each  of  the  children,  and  a  premium  of 
fifty  for  twins.  One  penny  a  square!  Two  half 
pence  is  all  the  same,  and  four  farthings  is  received 
with  joy.  One  penny  a  square  !  Wine-stains,  fruit- 
stains,  beer-stains,  water-stains,  paint-stains,  pitch- 
stains,  mud -stains,  blood -stains!  Here  is  a  stain 
upon  the  hat  of  a  gentleman  id  company  that  I'll 
take  clean  out  before  he  can  order  me  a  pint  of  ale." 

"  Hah !"  cried  Sikes,  starting  up.  "  Give  that 
back !" 

"  I'll  take  it  clean  out,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  wink 
ing  to  the  company,  "  before  you  can  come  across 
the  room  to  get  it.  Gentlemen  all,  observe  the  dark 
stain  upon  this  gentleman's  hat,  no  wider  than  a  shil 
ling,  but  thicker  than  a  half-crown.  Whether  it  is 
a  wine -stain,  fruit -stain,  beer -stain,  water -stain, 
paint-stain,  pitch-stain,  mud-stain,  or  blood-stain—" 

The  man  got  no  farther,  for  Sikes,  with  a  hideous 
imprecation,  overthrew  the  table,  and,  tearing  the  hat 
from  him,  burst  out  of  the  house. 

With  the  same  perversity  of  feeling  and  irresolu 
tion  that  had  fastened  upon  him,  despite  himself,  all 
day,  the  murderer,  finding  that  he  was  not  followed, 
and  that  they  most  probably  considered  him  some 
drunken,  sullen  fellow,  turned  back  up  the  town, 
and  getting  out  of  the  glare  of  the  lamps  of  a  stage 
coach  that  was  standing  in  the  street,  was  walking 
past,  when  he  recognized  the  mail  from  London,  and 
saw  that  it  was  standing  at  the  little  post-office. 
He  almost  knew  what  was  to  come ;  but  he  crossed 
over,  and  listened. 

The  guard  was  standing  at  the  door,  waiting  for 
the  letter-bag.  A  man,  dressed  like  a  gamekeeper, 
came  up  at  the  moment,  and  he  handed  him  a  basket 
which  lay  ready  on  the  pavement. 

"  That's  for  your  people,"  said  the  guard.  "  Now, 
look  alive  in  there,  will  you !  D —  that  'ere  bag,  it 
warn't  ready  night  afore  last ;  this  won't  do,  you 
know!" 

"Any  thing  new  up  in  town,  Ben  ?"  asked  the 
gamekeeper,  drawing  back  to  the  window-shutters, 
the  better  to  admire  the  horses. 

"  No,  nothing  that  I  knows  on,"  replied  the  man, 
pulling  on  his  gloves.  "  Corn's  up  a  little.  I  heerd 
talk  of  a  murder,  too,  down  Spitalfields  way,  but  I 
don't  reckon  much  upon  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  quite  true,"  said  a  gentleman  inside, 
who  was  looking  out  of  the  window.  "And  a  dread 
ful  murder  it  was." 


"Was  it,  sir?"  rejoined  the  guard,  touching  his 
hat.  "  Man  or  woman,  pray,  sir  ?" 

"A  woman,"  replied  the  gentleman.  "It  is  sup 
posed — 

"  Now,  Ben !"  cried  the  coachman,  impatiently. 

"  D —  that  'ere  bag,"  said  the  guard ;  "  are  you 
gone  to  sleep  in  there  ?" 

"  Coming !"  cried  the  officer-keeper,  running  out. 

"  Coming !"  growled  the  guard.  "Ah,  and  so's  the 
young  ooman  of  property  that's  going  to  take  a  fan 
cy  to  me,  but  I  don't  know  when.  Here,  give  hold. 
Allri— ight!" 

The  horn  sounded  a  few  cheerful  notes,  and  the 
coach  was  gone. 

Sikes  remained  standing  in  the  street,  apparently 
unmoved  by  what  he  had  just  heard,  and  agitated 
by  no  stronger  feeling  than  a  doubt  where  to  go.  At 
length  he  went  back  again,  and  took  the  road  which 
leads  from  Hatfield  to  St.  Albaus. 

He  went  on  doggedly ;  but  as  he  left  the  town  be 
hind  him,  and  plunged  into  the  solitude  and  dark 
ness  of  the  road,  he  felt  a  dread  and  awe  creeping 
upon  hiifl  which  shook  him  to  the  core.  Every  ob 
ject  before  him,  substance  or  shadow,  still  or  moving, 
took  the  semblance  of  some  fearful  thing ;  but  these 
fears  were  nothing  compared  to  the  sense  that  haunt 
ed  him  of  that  morning's  ghastly  figure  following  at 
his  heels.  He  could  trace  its  shadow  in  the  gloom, 
supply  the  smallest  item  of  the  outline,  and  note  how 
stiff  and  solemn  it  seemed  to  stalk  alone.  He  could 
hear  its  garments  rustling  in  the  leaves,  and  every 
breath  of  wind  came  laden  with  that  last  low  cry. 
If  he  stopped,  it  did  the  same.  If  he  ran,  it  followed 
— not  running  too  ;  that  would  have  been  a  relief : 
but  like  a  corpse  endowed  with  the  mere  machinery 
of  life,  and  borne  on  one  slow,  melancholy  wind 
that  never  rose  or  fell. 

At  times  he  turned,  with  desperate  determination, 
resolved  to  beat  this  phantom  off,  though  it  should 
look  him  dead ;  but  the  hair  rose  on  his  head,  and 
his  blood  stood  still,  for  it  had  turned  with  him,  and 
was  behind  him  then.  He  ha<l  kept  it  before  him 
that  morning,  but  it  was  behind  now — always.  He 
leaned  his  back  against  a  bank,  and  felt  that  it  stood 
above  him,  visibly  out  against  the  cold  night-sky. 
He  threw  himself  upon  the  road — on  his  back  upon 
the  road.  At  his  head  it  stood,  silent,  erect,  and  still 
— a  living  grave-stone,  with  its  epitaph  in  blood. 

Let  no  man  talk  of  murderers  escaping  justice,  and  • 
hint  that  Providence  must  sleep.     There  were  twen 
ty  score  of  violent  deaths  in  one  long  minute  of  that  • 
agony  of  fear. 

There  was  a  shed  in  a  field  he  passed  that  offered 
shelter  for  the  night.  Before  the  door  were  three 
tall  poplar  trees,  which  made  it  very  dark  within  ; 
and  the  wind  moaned  through  them  with  a  dismal 
wail.  He  could  not  walk  on  till  daylight  came  again  : 
and  here  he  stretched  himself  close  to  the  wall — to 
undergo  new  torture. 

For  now  a  vision  came  before  him,  as  constant 
and  more  terrible  than  that  from  which  he  had  es 
caped.  Those  widely-staring  eyes,  so  lustreless  and 
so  glassy,  that  he  had  better  borne  to  see  them  than 
think  upon  them,  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  dark 
ness,  bight  in  themselves,  but  giving  light  to  nothing. 
There  were  but  two,  but  they  were  everywhere.  If 


THE  CUESE  OF  CAIN. 


he  shut  out  the  sight,  there  came  the  room  with  ev 
ery  well-known  object — some,  indeed,  that  he  Avould 
have  forgotten  if  lie  had  gone  over  its  contents  from 
memory — each  in  its  accustomed  place.  The  body 
was  in  its  place,  and  its  eyes  were  as  he  saw  them 
when  he  stole  away.  He  got  up  aud  rushed  into  the 
field  without.  The  figure  was  behind  him.  He  re- 
entered  the  shed,  aud  shrunk  down  once  more.  The 
eyes  were  there,  before  he  had  lain  himself  along. 

And  here  he  remained  in  such  terror  as  none  but 
he  can  know,  trembling  in  every  limb,  and  the  cold 
sweat  starting  from  every  pore,  when  suddenly  there 
arose  upon  the  night- wind  the  noise  of  distant  shout 
ing  and  the  roar  of  voices  mingled  in  alarm  and  won 
der.  Any  sound  of  men  in  that  lonely  place,  even 
though  it  conveyed  a  real  cause  of  alarm,  was  some 
thing  to  him.  He  regained  his  strength  and  energy 
at  the  prospect  of  personal  danger ;  and  springing  to 
his  feet,  rushed  into  the  open  air. 

The  broad  sky  seemed  on  fire.  Rising  into  the  air 
with  showers  of  sparks,  and  rolling  one  above  the 
other,  were  sheets  of  flame,  lighting  the  atmosphere 
for  miles  round,  and  driving  clouds  of  smoke  in  the 
direction  where  he  stood.  The  shouts  grew  louder 
as  new  voices  swelled  the  roar,  and  he  could  hear 
the  cry  of  fire,  mingled  with  the  ringing  of  an  alarm- 
bell,  the  fall  of  heavy  bodies,  and  the  crackling  of 
flames  as  they  twined  round  some  new  obstacle,  and 
shot  aloft  as  though  refreshed  by  food.  The  noise 
increased  as  he  looked.  There  were  people  there — 
men  and  women  —  light,  bustle.  It  was  like  new 
life  to  him.  He  darted  onward — straight,  headlong 
— dashing  through  brier  aud  brake,  and  leaping  gate 
and  fence  as  madly  as  his  dog,  who  careered  with 
loud  and  sounding  bark  before  him. 

He  came  upon  the  spot.  There  were  half-dressed 
figures  tearing  to  and  fro,  some  endeavoring  to  drag 
the  frightened  horses  from  the  stables,  others  driv 
ing  the  cattle  from  the  yard  and  out-houses,  and  oth 
ers  coming  laden  from  the  burning  pile,  amidst  a 
shower  of  falling  sparks  and  the  tumbling  down  of 
red-hot  beams.  The  apertures,  where  doors  and  win 
dows  stood  an  hour  ago,  disclosed  a  mass  of  raging 
fire ;  walls  rocked  and  crumbled  into  the  burning 
well ;  the  molten  lead  and  iron  poured  down,  white- 
hot,  upon  the  ground.  Women  and  children  shrieked, 
and  men  encouraged  each  other  with  noisy  shouts 
and  cheers.  The  clanking  of  the  engine-pumps,  and 
the  spirting  and  hissing  of  the  water  as  it  fell  upon 
the  blazing  wood,  added  to  the  tremendous  roar. 
He  shouted,  too,  till  he  was  hoarse  ;  and  flying  from 
memory  and  himself,  plunged  into  the  thickest  of 
the  throng. 

Hither  and  thither  he  dived  that  night  —  now 
working  at  the  pumps,  and  now  hurrying  through 
the  smoke  and  flame,  but  never  ceasing  to  engage 
himself  wherever  noise  and  men  were  thickest.  Up 
and  down  the  ladders,  upon  the  roofs  of  buildings, 
over  floors  that  quaked  and  trembled  with  his  weight, 
under  the  lee  of  falling  bricks  and  stones,  in  every 
part  of  that  great  fire,  was  he  ;  but  he  bore  a  charmed 
life,  and  had  neither  scratch  nor  bruise,  nor  weari 
ness  nor  thought,  till  morning  dawned  again,  and 
only  smoke  and  blackened  ruins  remained. 


This  mad  excitement  over,  there  returned,  with 
tenfold  force,  the  dreadful  consciousness  of  his  crime. 
He  looked  suspiciously  about  him,  for  the  men  were 
conversing  in  groups,  and  he  feared  to  be  the  subject 
of  their  talk.  The  dog  obeyed  the  significant  beck 
of  his  finger,  and  they  drew  off,  stealthily,  together. 
He  passed  near  an  engine  where  some  men  were 
seated,  and  they  called  to  him  to  share  in  their  re 
freshment.  He  took  some  bread  and  meat ;  and,  as 
he  drank  a  draught  of  beer,  heard  the  firemen,  who 
were  from  London,  talking  about  the  murder.  "  He 
has  gone  to  Birmingham,  they  say,"  said  one ;  "  but 
they'll  have  him  yet,  for  the  scouts  are  out,  and  by 
to-morrow  night  .there'll  be  a  cry  all  through  the 
country." 

He  hurried  off,  and  walked  till  he  almost  dropped 
upon  the  ground  ;  then  lay  down  in  a  lane,  and  had 
a  long,  but  broken  and  uneasy  sleep.  He  wandered 
on  again,  irresolute  and  undecided,  and  oppressed 
with  the  fear  of  another  solitary  night. 

Suddenly,  he  took  the  desperate  resolution  of  go 
ing  back  to  London. 

"  There's  somebody  to  speak  to  there,  at  all  events," 
he  thought.  "A  good  hiding-place,  too.  They'll 
never  expect  to  nab  me  there,  after  this  country 
scent.  Why  can't  I  lie  by  for  a  week  or  so,  and, 
forcing  blunt  from  Fagin,  get  abroad  to  France  ? 
Damme,  I'll  risk  it." 

He  acted  upon  this  impulse  without  delay,  and 
choosing  the  least  frequented  roads,  began  his  jour 
ney  back,  resolved  to  lie  concealed  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  metropolis,  and,  entering  it  at  dusk 
by  a  circuitous  route,  to  proceed  straight  to  that 
part  of  it  which  he  had  fixed  on  for  his  destina 
tion. 

The  dog,  though.  If  any  descriptions  of  him  were 
out,  it  would  not  be  forgotten  that  the  dog  was  miss 
ing,  and  had  probably  gone  with  him.  This  might 
lead  to  his  apprehension  as  he  passed  along  the 
streets.  He  resolved  to  drown  him,  and  walked  on, 
looking  about  for  a  pond,  picking  up  a  heavy  stone 
and  tying  it  to  his  handkerchief  as  he  went. 

The  animal  looked  up  into  his  master's  face  while 
these  preparations  were  making:  whether  his  in 
stinct  apprehended  something  of  their  purpose,  or 
the  robber's  sidelong  look  at  him  was  sterner  than 
ordinary,  he  skulked  a  little  farther  in  the  rear  than 
usual,  and  cowered  as  he  came  more  slowly  along. 
When  his  master  halted  at  the  brink  of  a  pool,  and 
looked  round  to  call  him,  he  stopped  outright. 

"  Do  you  hear  me  call  ?    Come  here !"  cried  Sikes. 

The  animal  came  up  from  the  very  force  of  hab 
it  ;  but  as  Sikes  stooped  to  attach  the  handkerchief 
to  his  throat,  he  uttered  a  low  growl  and  started 
back. 

"  Come  back !"  said  the  robber. 

The  dog  wagged  his  tail,  but  moved  not.  Sikes 
made  a  running  noose  and  called  him  again. 

The  dog  advanced,  retreated,  paused  an  instant, 
turned,  aud  scoured  away  at  his  hardest  speed. 

The  man  whistled  again  and  again,  and  sat  down 
and  waited  in  the  expectation  that  he  would  return. 
But  no  dog  appeared,  and  at  length  he  resumed  his 
journey. 


154 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

MONKS  AND  MR.  BROWNLOW  AT  LENGTH  MEET.  THEIR 
CONVERSATION,  AND  THE  INTELLIGENCE  THAT  INTER 
RUPTS  IT. 

THE  twilight  was  beginning  to  close  in,  when  Mr. 
Browulow  alighted  from  a  hackney-coach  at  his 
own  door,  and  knocked  softly.  The  door  being  open 
ed,  a  sturdy  man  got  out  of  the  coach  and  stationed 
himself  on  one  side  of  the  steps,  while  another  man, 
who  had  been  seated  on  the  box,  dismounted  too, 
and  stood  upon  the  other  side.  At  a  sign  from  Mr. 
Brownlow  they  helped  out  a  third  man,  and  taking 
him  between  them,  hurried  him  into  the  house.  This 
man  was  Monks. 

They  walked  in  the  same  manner  up  the  stairs, 
without  speaking;  and  Mr.  Browulow,  preceding 
them,  led  the  way  into  a  back-room.  At  the  door  of 
this  apartment  Monks,  who  had  ascended  wyith  ev 
ident  reluctance,  stopped.  The  two  men  looked  to 
the  old  gentleman  as  if  for  instructions. 

"  He  knows  the  alternative,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow. 
"  If  he  hesitates  or  moves  a  finger  but  as  you  bid 
him,  drag  him  into  the  street,  call  for  the  aid  of  the 
police,  and  impeach  him  as  a  felon  in  my  name." 

"  How  dare  you  say  this  of  me  ?"  asked  Monks. 

"  How  dare  you  urge  me  to  it,  young  man  ?"  re 
plied  Mr.  Brownlow,  confronting  him  with  a  steady 
look.  "Are  you  mad  enough  to  leave  this  house? 
Unhand  him.  There,  sir.  You  are  free  to  go,  and 
we  to  follow.  But  I  warn  you,  by  all  I  hold  most 
solemn  and  most  sacred,  that  the  instant  you  set 
foot  in  the  street,  that  instant  will  I  have  you  appre 
hended  on  a  charge  of  fraud  and  robbery.  I  am  res 
olute  and  immovable.  If  you  are  determined  to  be 
the  same,  your  blood  be  upon  your  own  head !" 

"  By  what  authority  am  I  kidnapped  in  the  street, 
and  brought  here  by  these  dogs  ?"  asked  Monks,  look 
ing  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  men  who  stood  be 
side  him. 

"  By  mine,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  Those  per 
sons  are  indemnified  by  me.  If  you  complain  of  be 
ing  deprived  of  your  liberty — you  had  power  and 
opportunity  to  retrieve  it  as  you  came  along,  but 
you  deemed  it  advisable  to  remain  quiet  —  I  say 
again,  throw  yourself  for  protection  on  the  law.  I 
will  appeal  to  the  law  too ;  but  when  you  have  gone 
too  far  to  recede,  do  not  sue  to  me  for  leniency,  when 
the  power  will  have  passed  into  other  hands ;  and  do 
not  say  I  plunged  you  down  the  gulf  into  which  you 
rushed  yourself." 

Monks  was  plainly  disconcerted,  and  alarmed  be 
sides.  He  hesitated. 

"  You  Avill  decide  quickly,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow, 
with  perfect  firmness  and  composure.  "  If  you  wish 
me  to  prefer  my  charges  publicly,  and  consign  you 
to  a  punishment  the  extent  of  which,  although  I  can, 
with  a  shudder,  foresee,  I  can  not  control — once  more, 
I  say,  you  know  the  way.  If  not,  and  you  appeal 
to  my  forbearance  and  the  mercy  of  those  you  have 
deeply  injured,  seat  yourself,  without  a  word,  in  that 
chair.  It  has  waited  for  you  two  whole  days." 

Monks  muttered  some  unintelligible  words,  but 
wavered  still. 

"You  will  be  prompt,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow.  "A 
word  from  me,  and  the  alternative  has  gone  forever." 


(Still  the  man  hesitated. 

"  I  have  not  the  inclination  to  parley,"  said  Mr. 
Brownlow,  "  and,  as  I  advocate  the  dearest  interests 
of  others,  I  have  not  the  right." 

"Is  there — "  demanded  Monks,  with  a  faltering 
tongue — "  is  there — no  middle  course?" 

"  None." 

Monks  looked  at  the  old  gentleman  with  an  anx 
ious  eye ;  but  reading  in  his  countenance  nothing  but 
severity  and  determination,  Avalked  into  the  room, 
and,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  sat  down. 

"  Lock  the  door  011  the  outside,"  said  Mr.  Brown- 
low  to  the  attendants,  "  and  come  when  I  ring." 

The  men  obeyed,  and  the  two  were  left  alone  to 
gether. 

"  This  is  pretty  treatment,  sir,"  said  Monks,  throw 
ing  down  his  hat  and  cloak,  "  from  my  father's  old 
est  friend." 

"It  is  because  I  was  your  father's  oldest  friend, 
young  man,"  returned  Mr.  Browulow ;  "  it  is  because 
the  hopes  aud  wishes  of  young  and  happy  years  were 
bound  up  with  him  and  that  fair  creature  of  his 
blood  and  kindred  who  rejoined  her  God  in  youth, 
and  left  me  here  a  solitary,  lonely  man ;  it  is  because 
he  kuelt  with  me  beside  his  only  sister's  death-bed 
when  he  was  yet  a  boy,  on  the  morning  that  would 
— but  Heaven  willed  otherwise — have  made  her  my 
young  wife ;  it  is  because  my  seared  heart  clung  to 
him,  from  that  time  forth,  through  all  his  trials  and 
errors,  till  he  died ;  it  is  because  old  recollections 
and  associations  filled  my  heart,  and  even  the  sight 
of  you  brings  with  it  old  thoughts  of  him ;  it  is  be 
cause  of  all  these  things  that  I  am  moved  to  treat 
you  gently  now — yes,  Edward  Leeford,  even  now 
—  and  blush  for  your  unworthiness  who  bear  the 
name." 

"  What  has  the  name  to  do  with  it  ?"  asked  the 
other,  after  contemplating,  half  in  silence,  and  half 
in  dogged  wonder,  the  agitation  of  his  companion. 
"  What  is  the  name  to  me  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow ;  "  nothing  to 
you.  But  it  was  hers,  and,  even  at  this  distance  of 
time,  brings  back  to  me,  an  old  man,  the  glow  and 
thrill  which  I  once  felt,  only  to  hear  it  repeated  by 
a  stranger.  I  am  very  glad  you  have  changed  it — 
very — very." 

"  This  is  all  mighty  fine,"  said  Monks  (to  retain 
his  assumed  designation),  after  a  long  silence,  during 
which  he  had  jerked  himself  in  sullen  defiance  to 
and  fro,  and  Mr.  Brownlow  had  sat  shading  his  face 
with  his  hand.  "  But  what  do  you  want  with  me  f 

"  You  have  a  brother,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  rousing 
himself — "  a  brother,  the  whisper  of  whose  name  in 
your  ear  when  I  came  behind  you  in  the  street  was, 
in  itself,  almost  enough  to  make  you  accompany  me 
hither,  in  wonder  and  alarm." 

"  I  have  no  brother,"  replied  Monks.  "  You  know 
I  was  an  only  child.  Why  do  you  talk  to  me  of 
brothers  ?  You  know  that,  as  well  as  I." 

"Attend  to  what  I  do  know,  and  you  may  not," 
said  Mr.  Brownlow.  I  shall  interest  you  by-and-by. 
I  know  that  of  the  wretched  marriage  into  which 
family  pride,  and  the  most  sordid  and  narrowest  of  all 
ambition,  forced  your  unhappy  father  when  a  mere 
boy,  you  were  the  sole  and  most  unnatural  issue." 

"  I  don't  care  for  hard  names,"  interrupted  Monks, 


ME.  BBOWNLOW  TELLS  A    TALE. 


155 


with  a  jeering  laugh.     "  You  kuow  the  fact,  and 
that's  enough  for  me." 

"But  I  also  kuow,"  pursued  the  old  gentleman, 
"the  misery,  the  slow  torture,  the  protracted  an 
guish,  of  that  ill-assorted  union.  I  kuow  how  list 
lessly  and  wearily  each  of  that  wretched  pair  drag 
ged  on  their  heavy  chain  through  a  world  that  was 
poisoned  to  them  both.  I  know  how  cold  formalities 
were  succeeded  by  open  taunts;  how  indifference 
gave  place  to  dislike,  dislike  to  hate,  and  hate  to 
loathing,  until  at  last  they  wrenched  the  clanking 
bond  asunder,  and  retiring  a  wide  space  apart,  car 
ried  each  a  galling  fragment,  of  which  nothing  but 
death  could  break  the  rivets,  to  hide  it  in  new  so 
ciety  beneath  the  gayest  looks  they  could  assume. 
Your  mother  succeeded — she  forgot  it  soon.  But  it 
rusted  and  cankered  at  your  father's  heart  for  years." 
••  Well,  they  were  separated,"  said  Monks;  "and 
what  of  that?" 

••  When  they  had  been  separated  for  some  time," 
returned  Mr.  Browulow,  "  and  your  mother,  wholly 
given  up  to  continental  frivolities,  had  utterly  for 
gotten  the  young  husband,  ten  good  years  her  junior, 
who,  with  prospects  blighted,  lingered  on  at  home, 
he  fell  among  new  friends.  This  circumstance,  at 
least,  you  know  already." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Monks,  turning  away  his  eyes  and 
beating  his  foot  upon  the  ground,  as  a  man  who  is 
determined  to  deny  every  thing.  "  Not  I." 

"  Your  manner,  no  less  than  your  actions,  assures 
me  that  you  have  never  forgotten  it,  or  ceased  to 
think  of  it  with  bitterness,"  returned  Mr.  Brownlow. 
"  I  speak  of  fifteen  years  ago,  when  you  were  not 
more  than  eleven  years  old,  and  your  father  but  one- 
a nd-thirty — for  he  was,  I  repeat,  a  boy  when  his  fa 
ther  ordered  him  to  marry.  Must  I  go  back  to  events 
which  cast  a  shade  upon  the  memory  of  your  parent, 
or  will  you  spare  it,  and  disclose  to  me  the  truth  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  disclose,"  rejoined  Monks. 
"  You  must  talk  on  if  you  will." 

"These  new  friends,  then,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow, 
"  were  a  naval  officer,  retired  from  active  service, 
whose  wife  had  died  some  half  a  year  before,  and  left 
him  with  two  children — there  had  been  more,  but, 
of  all  their  family,  happily  but  two  survived.  They 
were  both  daughters;  one  a  beautiful  creature  of 
nineteen,  and  the  other  a  mere  child  of  two  or  three 
years  old." 

"  What's  this  to  me  ?"  asked  Monks. 
"  They  resided,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  without  seem 
ing  to  hear  the  interruption,  "  in  a  part  of  the  coun 
try  to  which  your  father  in  his  wandering  had  re 
paired,  and  where  he  had  taken  up  his  abode.  Ac 
quaintance,  intimacy,  friendship,  fast  followed  on 
each  other.  Your  father  was  gifted  as  few  men  are. 
He  had  his  sister's  soul  and  person.  As  the  old  offi 
cer  knew  him  more  and  more,  he  grew  to  love  him. 
I  would  that  it  had  ended  there.  His  daughter  did 
the  same." 

The  old  gentleman  paused — Mcnks  was  biting  his 
lips,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor.  Seeing  this, 
he  immediately  resumed : 

"  The  end  of  a  year  found  him  contracted,  sol 
emnly  contracted,  to  that  daughter — the  object  of 
tin-  first,  true,  ardent,  only  passion  of  a  guileless 
girl." 


"  Your  tale  is  o*f  the  longest,"  observed  Monks, 
moving  restlessly  in  his  chair. 

"It. is  a  true  tale  of  grief  and  trial  and  sorrow, 
young  man,"  returned  Mr.  Browulow ;  "  and  such 
tales  usually  are  :  if  it  were  one  of  unmixed  joy  and 
happiness,  it  would  be  very  brief.  At  length  one  of 
those  rich  relations,  to  strengthen  whose  interest  and 
importance  your  father  had  been  sacrificed,  as  others 
are  often — it  is  no  uncommon  case — died,  and,  to  re 
pair  the  misery  he  had  been  instrumental  in  occasion 
ing,  left  him  his  panacea  for  all  griefs — Money.  It 
was  necessary  that  he  should  immediately  repair  to 
Rome,  whither  this  man  had  sped  for  health,  and 
where  he  had  died,  leaving  his  affairs  in  great  confu 
sion.  He  went,  was  seized  with  mortal  illness  there ; 
was  followed  the  moment  the  intelligence  reached 
Paris  by  your  mother,  who  carried  you  with  her ;  he 
died  the  day  after  her  arrival,  leaving  no  will — no 
will — so  that  the  whole  property  fell  to  her  and  you." 

At  this  part  of  the  recital,  Monks  held  his  breath 
and  listened  with  a  face  of  intense  eagerness,  though 
his  eyes  were  not  directed  toward  the  speaker.  As 
Mr.  Brownlow  paused,  he  changed  his  position  with 
the  air  of  one  who  has  experienced  a  sudden  relief, 
and  wiped  his  hot  face  and  hands. 

"  Before  he  went  abroad,  and  as  he  passed  through 
London  on  his  way,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  slowly,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  other's  face,  "  he  came  to 
me." 

"  I  never  heard  of  that,"  interrupted  Monks,  in  a 
tone  intended  to  appear  incredulous,  but  savoring 
more  of  disagreeable  surprise. 

"  He  came  to  me,  and  left  with  me,  among  some 
other  things,  a  picture — a  portrait  painted  by  him 
self — a  likeness  of  this  poor  girl — which  he  did  not 
wish  to  leave  behind,  and  could  not  carry  forward  on 
his  hasty  journey.  He  was  worn,  by  anxiety  and  re 
morse,  almost  to  a  shadow ;  talked  in  a  wild,  dis 
tracted  way  of  ruin  and  dishonor  worked  by  himself; 
confided  to  me  his  intention  to  convert  his  whole 
property,  at  any  loss,  into  money,  and,  having  set 
tled  on  his  wife  and  you  a  portion  of  his  recent  ac 
quisition,  to  fly  the  country — I  guessed  too  well  he 
would  not  fly  alone — and  never  see  it  more.  Even 
from  me,  his  old  and  early  friend,  whose  strong  at 
tachment  had  taken  root  in  the  earth  that  covered 
one  most  dear  to  both — even  from  me  he  withheld 
any  more  particular  confession,  promising  to  write 
and  tell  me  all,  and  after  that  to  see  me  once  again 
for  the  last  time  on  earth.  Alas !  That  was  the  last 
time.  I  had  no  letter,  and  I  never  saw  him  more. 

"  I  went,"  said  Mr.  Browulow,  after  a  short  pause ; 
"  I  went,  when  all  was  over,  to  the  scene  of  his — I 
will  vise  the  term  the  world  would  freely  use,  for 
worldly  harshness  or  favor  are  now  alike  to  him — of 
his  guilty  love,  resolved  that  if  my  fears  were  real 
ized,  that  erring  child  should  find  one  heart  and 
home  to  shelter  and  compassionate  her.  The  family 
had  left  that  part  a  week  before ;  they  had  called  in 
such  trifling  debts  as  were  outstanding,  discharged 
them,  and  left  the  place  by  night.  Why,  or  whither, 
none  can  tell." 

Monks  drew  his  breath  yet  more  freely,  and  looked 
round  with  a  smile  of  triumph. 

"  When  your  brother,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  draw 
ing  nearer  to  the  other's  chair — "  when  your  broth- 


156 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


er  —  a  feeble,  ragged,  neglected  (fliild  —  was  cast  in 
my  way  by  a  stronger  hand  than  chance,  and  res 
cued  by  me  from  a  life  of  vice  and  infamy — 

"  What  ?"  cried  Monks. 

"  By  me,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  I  told  you  I  should 
interest  you  before  long.  I  say  by  me — I  see  that  your 
cunning  associate  suppressed  my  name,  although,  for 
aught  he  knew,  it  would  be  quite  strange  to  your  ears. 
When  he  was  rescued  by  me,  then,  and  lay  recover 
ing  from  sickness  in  my  house,  his  strong  resemblance 
to  this  picture  I  have  spoken  of  struck  me  with  as 
tonishment.  Even  when  I  first  saw  him  in  all  his 
dirt  and  misery,  there  was  a  lingering  expression  in 
his  face  that  came  upon  me  like  a  glimpse  of  some 
old  friend  flashing  on  one  in  a  vivid  dream.  I  need 
not  tell  you  he  was  snared  away  before  I  knew  his 
history — 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Monks,  hastily. 

"  Because  you  know  it  well." 
a  j  j» 

"  Denial  to  me  is  vain,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow. 
"  I  shall  show  you  that  I  know  more  than  that." 

"  You — you — can't  prove  any  thing  against  me," 
stammered  Monks.  "  I  defy  you  to  do  it !" 

"  We  shall  see,"  returned  the  old  gentleman,  with 
a  searching  glance.  "  I  lost  the  boy,  and  no  efforts 
of  mine  could  recover  him.  Your  mother  being  dead, 
I  knew  that  you  alone  could  solve  the  mystery  if 
any  body  could;  and  as  when  I  had  last  heard  of 
you  you  were  on  your  own  estate  in  the  West  Indies 
— whither,  as  you  well  know,  you  retired  upon  your 
mother's  death  to  escape  the  consequences  of  vicious 
courses  here — I  made  the  voyage.  You  had  left  it 
months  before,  and  were  supposed  to  be  in  London ; 
but  no  one  could  tell  where.  I  returned.  Your  agents 
had  no  clue  to  your  residence.  You  came  and  went, 
they  said,  as  strangely  as  you  had  ever  done — some 
times  for  days  together  and  sometimes  not  for  mouths 
— keeping,  to  all  appearance,  the  same  low  haunts, 
and  mingling  with  the  same  infamous  herd  who 
had  been  your  associates  when  a  fierce,  ungovern 
able  boy.  I  wearied  them  with  new  applications.  I 
paced  the  streets  by  night  and  day,  but,  until  two 
hours  ago,  all  my  efforts  were  fruitless,  and  I  never 
saw  you  for  an  instant." 

"And  now  you  do  see  me,"  said  Monks,  rising  bold 
ly,  "  what  then  ?  Fraud  and  robbery  are  high-sound- 
iug  words — justified,  you  think,  by  a  fancied  resem 
blance  in  some  young  imp  to  an  idle  daub  of  a  dead 
man's.  Brother !  you  don't  even  know  that  a  child 
was  born  of  this  maudlin  pair ;  you  don't  even  know 
that," 

"  I  did  not,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow,  rising  too ;  "  but 
within  the  last  fortnight  I  have  learned  it  all.  You 
have  a  brother :  you  know  it  and  him.  There  was  a 
will,  which  your  mother  destroyed,  leaving  the  secret 
and  the  gain  to  you  at  her  own  death.  It  contained 
a  reference  to  some  child  likely  to  be  the  result  of 
this  sad  connection,  which  child  was  born,  and  acci 
dentally  encountered  by  you,  when  your  suspicions 
were  first  awakened  by  his  resemblance  to  his  father. 
You  repaired  to  the  place  of  his  birth.  There  exist 
ed  proofs — proofs  long  suppressed — of  his  birth  and 
parentage.  Those  proofs  were  destroyed  by  you,  and 
now,  in  your  own  words  to  your  accomplice  the  Jew, 
ltlw  only  proofs  of  the  boy's  identity  lie  at  the  bottom  of 


the  river,  and  the  old  hay  that  received  them  from  tlic 
mother  is  rotting  in  her  coffin.1  Unworthy  son,  coward, 
liar — you,  who  hold  your  councils  with  thieves  and 
murderers  in  dark  rooms  at  night — you,  whose  plots 
and  wiles  have  brought  a  violent  death  upon  the 
head  of  one  worth  millions  such  as  you — you,  who 
from  your  cradle  were  gall  and  bitterness  to  your  own 
father's  heart,  and  in  whom  all  evil  passions,  vice, 
and  profligacy  festered,  till  they  found  a  vent  in  a 
hideous  disease  which  has  made  your  face  an  index 
even  to  your  mind — you,  Edward  Leeford,  do  you 
still  brave  me !" 

"No,  no,  no!"  returned  the  coward,  overwhelmed 
by  these  accumulated  charges. 

"  Every  word !"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  "  every 
word  that  has  passed  between  you  and  this  detested 
villain  is  known  to  me.  Shadows  on  the  wall  have 
caught  your  whispers,  and  brought  them  to  my  ear ; 
the  sight  of  the  persecuted  child  has  turned  vice  it 
self,  and  given  it  the  courage  and  almost  the  attri 
butes  of  virtue.  Murder  has  been  done,  to  which 
you  were  morally  if  not  really  a  party." 

"  No,  no,"  interposed  Monks.  "  I— I — know  noth 
ing  of  that ;  I  was  going  to  inquire  the  truth  of  the 
story  when  you  overtook  me.  I  didn't  know  the 
cause.  I  thought  it  was  a  common  quarrel." 

"  It  was  the  partial  disclosure  of  your  secrets,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Bro willow.  "  Will  you  disclose  the  whole  f ' 

"Yes, I  will." 

"  Set  your  hand  to  a  statement  of  truth  and  facts, 
and  repeat  it  before  witnesses  ?" 

"  That  I  promise  too." 

"Remain  quietly  here  until  such  a  document  is 
drawn  up,  and  proceed  with  me  to  such  a  place  as  I 
may  deem  most  advisible,  for  the  purpose  of  attest 
ing  it  ?" 

"  If  you  insist  upon  that,  I'll  do  that  also,"  replied 
Monks. 

"  You  must  do  more  than  that,"  said  Mr.  Brown- 
low.  "Make  restitution  to  an  innocent  and  unof 
fending  child ;  for  such  he  is,  although  the  offspring 
of  a  guilty  and  most  miserable  love.  You  have  not 
forgotten  the  provisions  of  the  will.  Carry  them 
into  execution  so  far  as  your  brother  is  concerned, 
and  then  go  where  you  please.  In  this  world  you 
need  meet  no  more." 

While  Monks  was  pacing  up  and  down,  meditating 
with  dark  and  evil  looks  on  this  proposal  and  the 
possibilities  of  evading  it — torn  by  his  fears  on  the 
one  hand  and  his  hatred  on  the  other — the  door  was 
hurriedly  unlocked,  and  a  gentleman  (Mr.  Losberue) 
entered  the  room  in  violent  agitation. 

"  The  man  will  be  taken,"  he  cried.  "  He  will  be 
taken  to-night." 

"  The  murderer  ?"  asked  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  other.  "  His  dog  has  been 
seen  lurking  about  some  old  haunt,  and  there  seems 
little  doubt  that  his  master  either  is,  or  will  be,  there. 
under  cover  of  the  darkness.  Spies  are  hovering 
about  in  every  direction.  I  have  spoken  to  the  men 
who  are  charged  with  his  capture,  and  they  tell  me 
he  can  not  escape.  A  reward  of  a  hundred  pounds 
is  proclaimed  by  Government  to-night." 

"  I  will  give  fifty  more,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  "  and 
proclaim  it  with  my  own  lips  upon  the  spot,  if  I  can 
reach  it.  Where  is  Mr.  May  lie  ?" 


JACOB'S  ISLAND— FOLLY  DITCH. 


157 


"  Harry  ?  As  soon  as  he  had  seen  your  friend  here, 
safe  in  a  coach  with  you,  he  hnrried  off  to  where  he 
heard  this,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  and,  mounting  his 
horse,  sallied  forth  to  join  the  first  party  at  some 
place  in  the  outskirts  agreed  upon  between  them." 

"  Fagiu  ?"  said  Mr.  Brownlow ;  "  what  of  him  ?" 

"  When  I  last  heard,  he  had  not  been  taken,  but 
he  will  be,  or  is,  by  this  time.  They're  sure  of  him." 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind?"  asked  Mr.  Brown- 
low,  in  a  low  voice,  of  Monks. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "You — you — will  be  secret 
with  me  ?•" 

"  I  will.  Remain  here  till  I  return.  It  is  your 
only  hope  of  safety." 

They  left  the  room,  and  the  door  was  again  locked. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?"  asked  the  doctor,  in  a 
whisper. 

"All  -that  I  could  hope  to  do,  and  even  more. 
Coupling  the  poor  girl's  intelligence  with  my  previ 
ous  knowledge,  and  the  result  of  our  good  friend's 
inquiries  on  the  spot,  I  left  him  no  loop-hole  of  es 
cape,  and  laid  bare  the  whole  villainy  which  by 
these  lights  became  plain  as  day.  Write  and  ap 
point  the  evening  after  to-morrow,  at  seven,  for  the 
meeting.  We  shall  be  down  there  a  few  hours  be 
fore,  but  shall  require  rest,  especially  the  young  lady, 
who  may  have  greater  need  of  firmness  than  either 
you  or  I  can  quite  foresee  just  now.  But  my  blood 
boils  to  avenge  this  poor  murdered  creature.  Which 
way  have  they  taken  ?" 

"  Drive  straight  to  the  office  and  you  will  be  in 
time,"  replied  Mr.  Losberne.  "  I  will  remain  here." 

The  two  gentlemen  hastily  separated,  each  in  a 
fever  of  excitement  wholly  uncontrollable. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE  PURSUIT  AND  ESCAPE. 

"VTEAR  to  that  part  of  the  Thames  on  which  the 
J_  i  church  at  Rotherhithe  abuts,  where  the  build 
ings  on  the  banks  are  dirtiest  and  the  vessels  on  the 
river  blackest  with  the  dust  of  colliers  and  the  smoke 
of  close-built  low-roofed  houses,  there  exists  the 
filthiest,  the  strangest,  the  most  extraordinary  of  the 
many  localities  that  are  hidden  in  London,  wholly 
unknown,  even  by  name,  to  the  great  mass  of  its  in 
habitants. 

To  reach  this  place  the  visitor  has  to  penetrate 
through  a  maze  of  close,  narrow,  and  muddy  streets, 
thronged  by  the  roughest  and  poorest  of  water-side 
people,  and  devoted  to  the  traffic  they  may  be  sup 
posed  to  occasion.  The  cheapest  and  least  delicate 
provisions  are  heaped  in  the  shops ;  the  coarsest  and 
commonest  articles  of  wearing  apparel  dangle  at  the 
salesman's  door,  and  stream  from  the  house  parapet 
and  windows.  Jostling  with  unemployed  laborers 
of  the  lowest  class,  ballast -heavers,  coal-whippers, 
brazen  women,  ragged  children,  and  the  raff  and  ref 
use  of  the  river,  he  makes  his  way  with  difficulty 
along,  assailed  by  offensive  sights  and  smells  from 
the  narrow  alleys  which  branch  off  on  the  right  and 
left,  and  deafened  by  the  clash  of  ponderous  wagons 
that  bear  great  piles  of  merchant!  ise  from  the  stacks 
of  warehouses  that  rise  from  every  corner.  Arriv 


ing,  at  length,  in  streets  remoter  and  less  frequented 
than  those  through  which  he  has  passed,  he  walks 
beneath  tottering  house-fronts  projecting  over  the 
pavement,  dismantled  walls  that  seem  to  totter  as 
he  passes,  chimneys  half  crushed,  half  hesitating  to 
fall,  windows  guarded  by  rusty  iron  bars  that  time 
and  dirt  have  almost  eaten  away,  and  every  imagi 
nable  sign  of  desolation  and  neglect. 

In  such  a  neighborhood,  beyond  Dockhead,  in  the 
borough  of  Southwark,  stands  Jacob's  Island,  sur 
rounded  by  a  muddy  ditch,  six  or  eight  feet  deep 
and  fifteen  or  twenty  wide  when  the  tide  is  in,  once 
called  Mill  Pond,  but  known  in  the  days  of  this  sto 
ry  as  Folly  Ditch.  It  is  a  creek  or  inlet  from  the 
Thames,  and  can  always  be  filled  at  high  water  by 
opening  the  sluices  at  the  Lead  Mills,  from  which  it 
took  its  old  name.  At  such  times  a  stranger,  look 
ing  from  one  of  the  wooden  bridges  thrown  across  it 
at  Mill  Lane,  will  see  the  inhabitants  of  the  houses 
on  either  side  lowering  from  their  backdoors  and 
windows,  buckets,  pails,  domestic  utensils  of  all 
kinds,  in  which  to  haul  the  water  up ;  and  when  his 
eye  is  turned  from  these  operations  to  the  houses 
themselves,  his  utmost  astonishment  will  be  excited 
by  the  scene  before  him.  Crazy  wooden  galleries 
common  to  the  backs  of  half  a  dozen  houses,  with 
holes  from  which  to  look  upon  the  slime  beneath ; 
windows,  broken  and  patched,  with  poles  thrust  out, 
on  which  to  dry  the  linen  that  is  never  there ;  rooms 
so  small,  so  filthy,  so  confined,  that  the  air  would 
seem  too  tainted  even  for  the  dirt  and  squalor  which 
they  shelter;  wooden  chambers  thrusting  themselves 
out  above  the  mud,  and  threatening  to  fall  into  it — 
as  some  have  done ;  dirt-besmeared  walls  and  decay 
ing  foundations ;  every  repulsive  lineament  of  pov 
erty,  every  loathsome  indication  of  filth,  rot,  and  gar 
bage  ;  all  these  ornament  the  banks  of  Folly  Ditch. 

In  Jacob's  Island  the  warehouses  are  roofless  and 
empty ;  the  walls  are  crumbling  down ;  the  windows 
are  windows  no  more ;  the  doors  are  falling  into  the 
streets ;  the  chimneys  are  blackened,  but  they  yield 
no  smoke.  Thirty  or. forty  years  ago,  before  losses 
and  chancery  suits  came  upon  it,  it  was  a  thriving 
place ;  but  now  it  is  a  desolate  island  indeed.  The 
houses  have  no  owners ;  they  are  broken  open  and 
entered  upon  by  those  who  have  the  courage ;  and 
there  they  live  and  there  they  die.  They  must  have 
powerful  motives  for  a  secret  residence,  or  be  reduced 
to  a  destitute  condition  indeed,  who  seek  a  refuge  in 
Jacob's  Island. 

In  an  upper  room  of  one  of  these  houses — a  de 
tached  house  of  fair  size,  ruinous  in  other  respects, 
but  strongly  defended  at  door  and  window,  of  which 
house  the  back  commanded  the  ditch  in  manner  al 
ready  described — there  were  assembled  three  men, 
who,  regarding  each  other  every  now  and  then  with 
looks  expressive  of  perplexity  and  expectation,  sat 
for  some  time  in  profound  and  gloomy  silence.  One 
of  these  was  Toby  Crackit,  another  Mr.  Chitling.  and 
the  third  a  robber  of  fifty  years,  whose  nose  had  been 
almost  beaten  in,  in  some  old  scuffle,  and  whose  face 
bore  a  frightful  scar  which  might  probably  be  traced 
to  the  same  occasion.  This  man  was  a  returned 
transport,  and  his  name  was  Kags. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Toby,  turning  to  Mr.  Chitling,  "  that 
you  had  picked  out  some  other  crib  when  the  two 


158 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


old  ones  got  too  warm,  and  had  not  come  here,  my 
fine  feller." 

"  Why  didn't  yon,  blunderhead  ?"  said  Kags. 

"  Well,  I  thought  you'd  have  been  a  little  more 
glad  to  see  me  than  this,"  replied  Mr.  Chitling,  with 
a  melancholy  air. 

"Why  look'e,  young  gentleman,"  said  Toby,  "when 
a  man  keeps  himself  so  very  ex-elusive  as  I  have 
done,  and  by  that  means  has  a  snug  house  over  his 
head,  with  nobody  a-pryiug  and  smelling  about  it, 
it's  rather  a  startling  thing  to  have  the  honor  of  a 
wisit  from  a  young  gentleman  (however  respectable 
and  pleasant  a  person  he  may  be  to  play  cards  with 
at  conweniency)  circumstanced  as  you  are." 

"  Especially  when  the  exclusive  young  man  has 
got  a  friend  stopping  with  him  that's  arrived  sooner 
than  was  expected  from  foreign  parts,  and  is  too 
modest  to  want  to  be  presented  to  the  Judges  ou  his 
return,"  added  Mr.  Kags. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  after  which  Toby  Crack- 
it,  seeming  to  abandon  as  hopeless  any  further  eifort 
to  maintain  his  usual  devil-may-care  swagger,  turn 
ed  to  Chitliug  and  said, 

"  When  was  Fagin  took,  then  ?" 

"Just  at  dinner-time — two  o'clock  this  afternoon. 
Charley  and  I  made  our  lucky  up  the  wash'us  chim 
ney,  and  Bolter  got  into  the  empty  water-butt,  head 
downward ;  but  his  legs  were  so  precious  long  that 
they  stuck  out  at  the  top,  and  so  they  took  him  too." 

"And  Bet?" 

"  Poor  Bet !  She  went  to  see  the  Body,  to  speak 
to  who  it  was,"  replied  Chitling,  his  countenance 
falling  more  and  more,  "  and  went  off  mad,  scream 
ing  and  raving,  and  beating  her  head  against  the 
boards  ;  so  they  put  a  strait-weskut  on  her  and  took 
her  to  the  hospital — and  there  she  is." 

"  Wot's  come  of  young  Bates  ?"  demanded  Kags. 

"  He  hung  about,  not  to  come  over  here  afore  dark ; 
but  he'll  be  here  soon,"  replied  Chitliug.  "  There's 
nowhere  else  to  go  to  now,  for  the  people  at  The 
Cripples  are  all  in  custody,  and  the  bar  of  the  ken — 
I  went  up  there  and  see  it  with  my  own  eyes — is 
filled  with  traps." 

"  This  is  a  smash !"  observed  Toby,  biting  his  lips. 
"  There's  more  than  one  will  go  with  this." 

"  The  Sessions  are  on,"  said  Kags.  "  If  they  get 
the  inquest  over,  and  Bolter  turns  king's  evidence — 
as  of  course  he  will,  from  what  he's  said  already— 
they  can  prove  Fagin  an  accessory  before  the  fact, 
and  get  the  trial  on  on  Friday,  and  he'll  swing  in  six 
days  from  this,  by  G — !" 

"  You  should  have  heard  the  people  groan,"  said 
Chitling ;  "  the  officers  fought  like  devils,  or  they'd 
have  torn  him  away.  He  was  down  once,  but  they 
made  a  ring  round  him,  and  fought  their  way  along. 
You  should  have  seen  how  he  looked  about  him,  all 
muddy  and  bleeding,  and  clung  to  them  as  if  they 
were  his  dearest  friends.  I  can  see  7em  now,  not 
able  to  stand  upright  with  the  pressing  of  the  mob, 
and  dragging  him  along  among  'em ;  I  can  see  the 
people  jumping  up,  one  behind  another,  and  snarl 
ing  with  their  teeth  and  making  at  him  like  wild 
beasts ;  I  can  see  the  blood  upon  his  hair  and  beard, 
and  hear  the  cries  with  which  the  women  worked 
themselves  into  the  centre  of  the  crowd  at  the  street 
corner,  and  swore  they'd  tear  his  heart  out !" 


The  horror-stricken  witness  of  this  scene  pressed 
his  hands  upon  his  ears,  and  Avith  his  eyes  closed  got 
up  and  paced  violently  to  and  fro,  like  one  distracted. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  and  the  two  men  sat 
by  in  silence  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor,  a 
pattering  noise  was  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and  Sikes's 
dog  bounded  into  the  room.  They  ran  to  the  win 
dow,  down  stairs,  and  into  the  street.  The  dog  had 
jumped  in  at  an  open  window ;  he  made  no  attempt 
to  follow  them,  nor  was  his  master  to  be  seen. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  said  Toby,  when 
they  had  returned.  "  He  can't  be  coming  here.  I— 
I — hope  not." 

"  If  he  was  coming  here,  he'd  have  come  with  the 
dog,"  said  Kags,  stooping  down  to  examine  the  ani 
mal,  who  lay  panting  on  the  floor.  "  Here !  Give 
us  some  water  for  him  ;  he  has  run  himself  faint." 

"  He's  drunk  it  all  up,  every  drop,"  said  Chitling, 
after  watching  the  dog  for  some  time  in  silence. 
"Covered  with  mud — lame  —  half  blind  —  he  must 
have  come  a  long  way." 

"  Where  can  he  have  come  from !"  exclaimed  Toby. 
"  He's  been  to  the  other  kens  of  course,  and  finding 
them  filled  with  strangers,  come  on  here,  where  he's 
been  many  a  time  and  often.  But  where  can  he 
have  come  from  first,  and  how  comes  he  here  alone 
without  the  other !" 

"  He !" — (none  of  them  called  the  murderer  by  his 
old  name) — "  he  can't  have  made  away  with  himself. 
What  do  you  think  ?"  said  Chitling. 

Toby  shook  his  head. 

"  If  he  had,"  said  Kags,  "  the  dog  'ud  want  to  lead 
us  away  to  where  he  did  it.  No.  I  think  he's  got 
out  of  the  country,  and  left  the  dog  behind.  He 
must  have  given  him  the  slip  somehow,  or  he  wouldn't 
be  so  easy." 

This  solution,  appearing  the  most  probable  one, 
was  adopted  as  the  right ;  and  the  dog  creeping  un 
der  a  chair,  coiled  himself  up  to  sleep,  without  more 
notice  from  any  body. 

It  being  now  dark,  the  shutter  was  closed,  and  a 
candle  lighted  and  placed  upon  the  table.  The  ter 
rible  events  of  the  last  two  days  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  all  three,  increased  by  the  danger  and 
uncertainty  of  their  own  position.  They  drew  their 
chairs  closer  together,  starting  at  every  sound.  They 
spoke  little,  and  that  in  whispers,  and  were  as  silent 
and  awe-stricken  as  if  the  remains  of  the  murdered 
woman  lay  in  the  next  room. 

They  had  sat  tints  some  time,  when  suddenly  was 
heard  a  hurried  knocking  at  the  door  below. 

"  Young  Bates,"  said  Kags,  looking  angrily  round, 
to  check  the  fear  he  felt  himself. 

The  knocking  came  again.  No.  it  wasn't  he.  He 
never  knocked  like  that. 

Crackit  went  to  the  window,  and,  shaking  all  over, 
drew  in  his  head.  There  was  no  need  to  tell  them 
who  it  was ;  his  pale  face  was  enough.  The  dog. 
too,  was  on  the  alert  in  an  instant,  and  ran  whining 
to  the  door. 

"We  must  let  him  in,"  he  said,  taking  up  the 
candle. 

"  Isn't  there  any  help  for  it  ?"  asked  the  other  man 
in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  None.     He  must  come  in." 

"  Don't  leave  us  in  the  dark,"  said  Kags,  taking 


SIKES  AXD   THE  BOY  CHARLEY. 


159 


down  a  candle  from  the  chimney-piece,  and  lighting 
it,  with  such  a  trembling  hand  that  the  knocking 
was  twice  repeated  before  he  had  finished. 

Crackit  went  down  to  the  door,  and  returned  fol 
lowed  by  a  man  with  the  lower  part  of  his  face 
buried  in  a  handkerchief  and  another  tied  over  his 
head  under  his  hat.  He  drew  them  slowly  off. 
Blanched  face,  sunken  eyes,  hollow  cheeks,  beard  of 
three  days'  growth,  wasted  flesh,  short  thick  breath ; 
it  was  the  very  ghost  of  Sikes. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  a  chair  which  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  but,  shuddering  as  he  was  about 
to  drop  into  it,  and  seeming  to  glance  over  his  shoul 
der,  dragged  it  back  close  to  the  wall — as  close  as  it 
would  go — ground  it  against  it — and  sat  down. 

Not  a  word  had  been  exchanged.  He  looked  from 
one  to  another  in  silence.  If  an  eye  were  furtively 
raised  and  met  his,  it  was  instantly  averted.  When 
his  hollow  voice  broke  silence,  they  all  three  started. 
They  seemed  never  to  have  heard  its  tones  before. 

"  How  came  that  dog  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"Alone.     Three  hours  ago." 

"  To-night's  paper  says  that  Fagin's  taken.  Is  it 
true,  or  a  lie  ?" 

"  True." 

They  were  silent  again. 

"D —  you  all!"  said  Sikes,  passing  his  hand  across 
his  forehead.  "  Have  yon  nothing  to  say  to  me  f" 

There  was  an  uneasy  movement  among  them,  but 
nobody  spoke. 

"  You  that  keep  this  house,"  said  Sikes,  turning 
his  face  to  Crackit,  "  do  yon  mean  to  sell  me,  or  to 
let  me  lie  here  till  this  hunt  is  over  ?" 

"  You  may  stop  here,  if  you  think  it  safe,"  returned 
the  person  addressed,  after  some  hesitation. 

Sikes  carried  his  eyes  slowly  up  the  wall  behind 
him,  rather  trying  to  turn  his  head  than  actually 
doing  it,  and  said,  "  Is — it — the  body — is  it  buried  ?" 

They  shook  their  heads. 

"  Why  isn't  it  ?"  he  retorted,  with  the  same  glance 
behind  him.  "Wot  do  they  keep  such  ugly  things 
above  the  ground  for  ? — Who's  that  knocking  ?" 

Crackit  intimated,  by  a  motion  of  his  hand  as  he 
left  the  room,  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear ;  and 
directly  came  back  with  Charley  Bates  behind  him. 
Sikes  sat  opposite  the  door,  so  that  the  moment  the 
boy  entered  the  room  he  encountered  his  figure. 

"  Toby,"  said  the  boy,  falling  back,  as  Sikes  turned 
his  eyes  toward  him,  "why  didn't  you  tell  me  this 
down  stairs  ?" 

There  had  been  something  so  tremendous  in  the 
shrinking  off  of  the  three,  that  the  wretched  man 
was  willing  to  propitiate  even  this  lad.  According 
ly  he  nodded,  and  made  as  though  he  would  shake 
hands  with  him. 

"  Let  me  go  into  some  other  room,"  said  the  boy, 
retreating  still  farther. 

"  Charley !"  said  Sikes,  stepping  forward.  "  Don't 
you — don't  you  know  me  ?" 

"  Don't  come  nearer  me,"  answered  the  boy,  still 
retreating,  and  looking,  with  horror  in  his  eyes,  upon 
the  murderer's  face.  "  You  monster  !" 

The  man  stopped  half-way,  and  they  looked  at 
each  other ;  but  Sikes's  eyes  sunk  gradually  to  the 
ground. 

"  Witness  you  three,"  cried  the  boy,  shaking  his 


clenched  fist,  and  becoming  more  and  more  excited 
as  he  spoke.  "Witness  you  three — I'm  not  afraid 
of  him — if  they  come  here  after  him,  I'll  give  him 
np;  I  will.  I  tell  you  out  at  once.  He  may  kill 
me  for  it  if  he  likes,  or  if  he  dares,  but  if  I'm  here 
I'll  give  him  up.  I'd  give  him  up  if  he  was  to  be 
boiled  alive.  Murder !  Help  !  If  there's  the  pluck 
of  a  man  among  you  three,  you'll  help  me.  Murder ! 
Help  !  Down  with  him  !" 

Pouring  out  these  cries,  and  accompanying  them 
with  violent  gesticulation,  the  boy  actually  threw 
himself,  single-handed,  upon  the  strong  man,  and  in 
the  intensity  of  his  energy  and  the  suddenness  of  his 
surprise,  brought  him  heavily  to  the  ground. 

The  three  spectators  seemed  quite  stupefied.  They 
offered  no  inteference,  and  the  boy  and  man  rolled 
on  the  ground  together ;  the  former,  heedless  of  the 
blows  that  showered  upon  him,  wrenching  his  hands 
tighter  and  tighter  in  the  garments  about  the  mur 
derer's  breast,  and  never  ceasing  to  call  for  help 
with  all  his  might. 

The  contest,  however,  was  too  unequal  to  last 
long.  Sikes  had  him  down,  and  his  knee  was  on  his 
throat,  when  Crackit  pulled  him  back  with  a  look 
of  alarm,  and  pointed  to  the  window.  There  were 
lights  gleaming  below,  voices  in  loud  and  earnest 
conversation,  the  tramp  of  hurried  footsteps — end 
less  they  seemed  in  number — crossing  the  nearest 
wooden  bridge.  One  man  on  horseback  seemed  to 
be  among  the  crowd;  for  there  was  the  noise  of 
hoofs  rattling  on  the  uneven  pavement.  The  gleam 
of  lights  increased ;  the  footsteps  came  more  thickly 
and  noisily  on.  Then  came  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
door,  and  then  a  hoarse  murmur  from  such  a  multi 
tude  of  angry  voices  as  would  have  made  the  bold 
est  quail. 

"  Help !"  shrieked  the  boy,  in  a  voice  that  rent  the 
air.  " He's  here !  Break  down  the  door!" 

"  In  the  king's  name,"  cried  the  voices  without ; 
and  the  the  hoarse  cry  arose  again,  but  louder. 

"  Break  down  the  door !"  screamed  the  boy.  "  I 
tell  you  they'll  never  open  it !  Run  straight  to  tin- 
room  where  the  light  is.  Break  down  the  door !" 

Strokes  thick  and  heavy  rattled  upon  the  door 
and  lower  window-shutters  as  he  ceased  to  speak. 
and  a  loud  huzzah  burst  from  the  crowd,  giving  the 
listener,  for  the  first  time,  some  adequate  idea  of  its 
immense  extent. 

"  Open  the  door  of  some  place  where  I  can  lock  this 
screeching  hell-babe!"  cried  Sikes,  fiercely,  running 
to  and  fro,  and  dragging  the  boy  now  as  easily  as  it 
he  were  an  empty  sack.  "  That  door.  Quick !" 
He  flung  him  in,  bolted  it,  and  turned  the  key.  "  Is 
the  down  stairs  door  fast  ?" 

"Double-locked  and  chained,"  replied  Crackit, 
who,  with  the  other  two  men,  still  remained  quite 
helpless  and  bewildered. 

'  The  panels — are  they  strong  ?" 
Lined  with  sheet-iron." 
And  the  windows  too  f " 

'  Yes,  and  the  windows." 

'  D —  you !"  cried  the  desperate  ruffian,  throwing 
up  the  sash  and  menacing  the  crowd.  "  Do  your 
worst !  I'll  cheat  you  yet !" 

Of  all  the  terrific  yells  that  ever  fell  on  mortal 
ears,  none  could  exceed  the  cry  of  the  infuriated 


160 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


throng.  Some  shouted  to  those  who  were  nearest 
to  set  the  house  on  lire ;  others  roared  to  the  officers 
to  shoot  him  dead.  Among  them  all,  none  showed 
snch  fury  as  the  man  on  horseback,  who,  throwing 
himself  out  of  the  saddle,  and  bursting  through  the 
crowd  as  if  he  were  parting  water,  cried,  beneath 
the  window,  in  a  voice  that  rose  above  all  others, 
"  Twenty  guineas  to  the  man  who  brings  a  ladder !" 
The  nearest  voices  took  up  the  cry,  and  hundreds 
echoed  it.  Some  called  for  ladders,  some  for  sledge 
hammers  ;  some  ran  with  torches  to  and  fro  as  if  to 
seek  them,  and  still  came  back  and  roared  again; 
some  spent  their  breath  in  impotent  curses  and  exe 
crations  ;  some  pressed  forward  with  the  ecstasy  of 
madmen,  and  thus  impeded  the  progress  of  those  be 
low;  some  among  the  boldest  attempted  to  climb 


room  where  the  boy  was  locked,  and  that  was  too 
small  even  for  the  passage  of  his  body.  But,  from 
this  aperture,  he  had  never  ceased  to  call  on  those 
without  to  guard  the  back ;  and  thus,  when  the  mur 
derer  emerged  at  last  on  the  house-top  by  the  door 
in  the  roof,  a  loud  shout  proclaimed  the  fact  to  those 
in  front,  who  immediately  began  to  pour  round,  press 
ing  upon  each  other  in  one  unbroken  stream. 

He  planted  a  board,  which  he  had  carried  up  with 
him  for  the  purpose,  so  firmly  against  the  door  that 
it  must  be  matter  of  great  difficulty  to  open  it  from 
the  inside ;  and  creeping  over  the  tiles,  looked  over 
the  low  parapet. 

The  water  was  out,  and  the  ditch  a  bed  of  mud. 

The  crowd  had  been  hushed  during  these  few  mo 
ments,  watching  his  motions  and  doubtful  of  hispur- 


"AND  CHEEPING  OVER  THE  TILES,  LOOKED  OVEU  THE  LOW  PAKAPET." 


up  by  the  water-spoilt  and  crevices  in  the  wall ;  and 
all  waved  to  and  fro,  in  the  darkness  beneath,  like  a 
field  of  corn  moved  by  an  angry  wind,  and  joined 
from  time  to  time  in  one  loud  furious  roar. 

"The  tide,"  cried  the  murderer,  as  he  staggered 
back  into  the  room,  and  shut  the  faces  out,  "  the  tide 
was  in  as  I  came  up.  Give  me  a  rope,  a  long  rope. 
They're  all  in  front.  I  may  drop  into  the  Folly  Ditch, 
aud  clear  off  that  way.  Give  me  a  rope,  or  I  shall 
do  three  more  murders  and  kill  myself." 

The  panic-stricken  men  pointed  to  where  such  ar 
ticles  were  kept ;  the  murderer,  hastily  selecting  the 
longest  and  strongest  cord,  hurried  up  to  the  house 
top. 

All  the  windows  in  the  rear  of  the  house  had  been 
long  ago  bricked  up,  except  one  small  trap  in  the 


pose,  but  the  instant  they  perceived  it  and  knew  it 
was  defeated  they  raised  a  cry  of  triumphant  exe 
cration  to  which  all  their  previous  shouting  had 
been  whispers.  Again  and  again  it  rose.  Those 
who  were  at  too  great  a  distance  to  know  its  mean 
ing  took  up  the  sound  ;  it  echoed  and  re-echoed ;  it 
seemed  as  though  the  whole  city  had  poured  its  pop 
ulation  out  to  curse  him. 

On  pressed  the  people  from  the  front — on,  on,  on, 
in  a  strong  struggling  current  of  angry  faces,  with 
here  and  there  a  glaring  torch  to  light  them  up,  and 
show  them  out  in  all  their  wrath  and  passion.  The 
houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ditch  had  been  en 
tered  by  the  mob ;  sashes  were  thrown  up,  or  torn 
bodily  out ;  there  were  tiers  and  tiers  of  faces  in  ev 
ery  window,  and  cluster  upon  cluster  of  people  cling- 


OLIVER  EE 'VIS ITS  HIS  BIRTHPLACE. 


131 


ing  to  every  house-top.  Each  little  bridge  (arid  there 
were  three  in  sight)  beiit  beneath  the  weight  of  the 
crowd  upon  it.  Still  the  current  poured  on  to  find 
some  nook  or  hole  from  which  to  vent  their  shouts, 
and  only  for  an  instant  see  the  wretch. 

"  They  have  him  now !"  cried  a  man  on  the  nearest 
bridge.  ' '  Hurrah !" 

The  crowd  grew  light  with  uncovered  heads ;  and 
again  the  shout  uprose. 

"  I  will  give  fifty  pounds,"  cried  an  old  gentleman 
from  the  same  quarter,  "  to  the  man  who  takes  him 
alive.  I  will  remain  here  till  he  comes  to  ask  me 
for  it." 

There  was  another  roar.  At  this  moment  the 
word  was  passed  among  the  crowd  that*  the  door 
was  forced  at  last,  and  that  he  who  had  first  called 
for  the  ladder  had  mounted  into  the  room.  The 
stream  abruptly  turned  as  this  intelligence  ran  from 
mouth  to  mouth;  and  the  people  at  the  windows, 
seeing  those  upon  the  bridges  pouring  back,  quitted 
their  stations,  and,  running  into  the  street,  joined  the 
concourse  that  now  thronged  pell-mell  to  the  spot 
they  had  left,  each  man  crushing  and  striving  with 
his  neighbor,  and  all  panting  with  impatience  to  get 
near  the  door,  and  look  npoii  the  criminal  as  the  of 
ficers  brought  him  out.  The  cries  and  shrieks  of 
those  who  were  pressed  almost  to  suffocation,  or 
trampled  down  and  trodden  under  foot  in  the  con 
fusion,  were  dreadful ;  the  narrow  ways  were  com 
pletely  blocked  up ;  and  at  this  time,  between  the 
rush  of  some  to  regain  the  space  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  the  unavailing  struggles  of  others  to  ex-  • 
tricate  themselves  from  the  mass,  the  immediate  at 
tention  was  distracted  from  the  murderer,  although 
the  universal  eagerness  for  his  capture  was,  if  possi 
ble,  increased. 

The  man  had  shrank  down,  thoroughly  quelled  by 
the  ferocity  of  the  crowd  and  the  impossibility  of 
escape ;  but  seeiug  this  sudden  change  with  no  less 
rapidity  than  it  had  occurred,  he  sprang  upon  his 
feet,  determiued  to  make  one  last  effort  for  his  life 
by  dropping  into  the  ditch,  and,  at  the  risk  of  being 
stifled,  endeavoring  to  creep  away  in  the  darkness 
and  confusion. 

Roused  into  new  strength  and  energy,  and  stimu 
lated  by  the  noise  within  the  house,  which  announced 
that  an  entrance  had  really  been  effected,  he  set  his 
foot  against  the  stack  of  chimneys,  fastened  one  end 
of  the  rope  tightly  and  firmly  round  it,  and  with  the 
other  made  a  strong  running  noose,  by  the  aid  of  his 
hands  and  teeth,  almost  in  a  second.  He  could  let 
himself  down  by  the  cord  to  within  a  less  distance 
of  the  ground  than  his  own  height,  and  had  his  knife 
ready  in  his  hand  to  cut  it  then  and  drop. 

At  the  very  instant  when  he  brought  the  loop  over 
his  head  previous  to  slipping  it  beneath  his  armpits, 
and  when  the  old  gentleman  before  mentioned  (who 
had  clung  so  tight  to  the  railing  of  the  bridge  as  to 
resist  the  force  of  the  crowd,  and  retain  his  position) 
earnestly  warned  those  about  him  that  the  man  was 
about  to  lower  himself  down — at  that  very  instant 
the  murderer,  looking  behind  him  on  the  roof,  threw 
his  arms  above  his  head  and  uttered  a  yell  of  terror. 

"  The  eyes  again !"  he  cried,  in  an  unearthly 
screech. 

Staggering  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  he  lost  his 
L 


balance  and  tumbled  over  the  parapet.  The  noose 
was  on  his  neck.  It  ran  up  with  his  weight  tight  as 
a  bow-string,  and  swift  as  the  arrow  it  speeds.  He 
fell  for  five-aud-thirty  feet.  There  was  a  sudden 
jerk,  a  terrific  convulsion  of  the  limbs ;  and  there  he 
hung,  with  the  open  knife  clinched  in  his  stiffening 
hand. 

The  old  chimney  quivered  with  the  shock,  but 
stood  it  bravely.  The  murderer  swung  lifeless 
against  the  wall ;  and  the  boy,  thrusting  aside  the 
dangling  body  which  obscured  his  view,  called  to 
the  people  to  come  and  take  him  out,  for  God's  sake. 

A  dog  which  had  lain  concealed  till  now  ran  back 
ward  and  forward  on  the  parapet  with  a  dismal  howl, 
and  collecting  himself  for  a  spring,  jumped  for  the 
dead  man's  shoulders.  Missing  his  aim,  he  fell  into 
the  ditch,  turning  completely  over  as  he  went,  and 
striking  his  head  against  a  stone,  dashed  out  his 
brains. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

AFFORDING  AN  EXPLANATION  OF  MORE  MYSTERIES  THAN 
ONE,  AND  COMPREHENDING  A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE 
WITH  NO  WORD  OF  SETTLEMENT  OR  PIN-MONEY. 

THE  events  narrated  in  the  last  chapter  were  yet 
but  two  days  old  when  Oliver  found  himself,  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  traveling-carnage 
rolling  fast  toward  his  native  town.  Mrs.  Maylie, 
and  Rose,  and  Mrs.  Bedwiu,  and  the  good  doctor, 
were  with  him ;  and  Mr.  Brownlow  followed  in  a 
post-chaise,  accompanied  by  one  other  person,  whose 
name  had  not  been  mentioned. 

They  had  not  talked  much  upon  the  way ;  for  Ol 
iver  was  in  a  flutter  of  agitation  and  uncertainty 
which  deprived  him  of  the  power  of  collecting  his 
thoughts,  and  almost  of  speech,  and  appeared  to 
have  scarcely  less  effect  on  his  companions,  who 
shared  it  in  at  least  an  equal  degree.  He  and  the 
two  ladies  had  been  very  carefully  made  acquainted 
by  Mr.  Brownlow  with  the  nature  of  the  admissions 
which  had  been  forced  from  Monks;  and  although 
they  knew  that  the  object  of  their  present  journey 
was  to  complete  the  work  which  had  been  so  well 
begun,  still  the  whole  matter  was  enveloped  in 
enough  of  doubt  and  mystery  to  leave  them  in  en 
durance  of  the  most  intense  suspense. 

The  same  kind  friend  had,  with  Mr.  Losberne's  as 
sistance,  cautiously  stopped  all  channels  of  commu 
nication  through  which  they  could  receive  intelli 
gence  of  the  dreadful  occurrences  that  had  so  recent 
ly  taken  place.  "  It  was  quite  true,"  he  said,  "  that 
they  must  know  them  before  long,  but  it  might  be  at 
a  better  time  than  the  present,  and  it  could  not  be  at 
a  worse."  So  they  traveled  on  in  silence,  each  busied 
with  reflections  on  the  object  which  had  brought 
them  together,  and  no  one  disposed  to  give  utterance 
to  the  thoughts  which  crowded  upon  all. 

But  if  Oliver,  under  these  influences,  had  remained 
silent  while  they  journeyed  toward  his  birthplace 
by  a  road  he  had  never  seen,  how  the  whole  current 
of  his  recollections  ran  back  to  old  times,  and  what  a 
crowd  of  emotions  were  wakened  up  in  his  breast. 
when  they  turned  into  that  which  he  had  traversed 


162 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


on  foot — a  poor  houseless,  wandering  boy,  without  a 
friend  to  help  him,  or  a  roof  to  shelter  his  head. 

"  See  there,  there !  cried  Oliver,  eagerly  clasping 
the  hand  of  Rose,  and  pointing  out  at  the  carriage 
window ;  "  that's  the  stile  I  caine  over ;  there  are  the 
hedges  I  crept  behind,  for  fear  any  one  should  over 
take  me  arid  force  me  back!  Yonder  is  the  path 
across  the  iields,  leading  to  the  old  house  where  I 
was  a  little  child !  Oh  Dick,  Dick,  my  dear  old  friend, 
if  I  could  only  see  you  now !" 

"  You  will  see  him  soon,"  replied  Rose,  gently  tak 
ing  his  folded  hands  between  her  own.  "  You  shall 
tell  him  how  happy  you  are,  and  how  rich  you  have 
grown,  and  that  in  all  your  happiness  you  have  none 
so  great  as  the  coming  back  to  make  him  happy  too." 

"  Yes,  yes."  said  Oliver,  "  and  we'll — we'll  take  him 
away  from  here,  and  have  him  clothed  and  taught, 
and  send  him  to  some  quiet  country  place  where  he 
may  grow  strong  and  well — shall  we  ?" 

Rose  nodded  "  yes ;"  for  the  boy  was  smiling 
through  such  happy  tears  that  she  could  not  speak. 

"  You  will  be  kind  and  good  to  him,  for  you  are  to 
every  one,"  said  Oliver.  "It  will  make  you  cry,  I 
know,  to  hear  what  he  can  tell ;  but  never  mind, 
never  mind :  it  will  be  all  over,  and  you  will  smile 
again — I  know  that  too — to  think  how  changed  he 
is ;  you  did  the  same  with  me.  He  said  '  God  bless 
you '  to  me  when  I  ran  away,"  cried  the  boy,  with  a 
burst  of  affectionate  emotion,  "  and  I  will  say  '  God 
bless  you '  now,  and  show  him  how  I  love  him  for  it !" 

As  they  approached  the  town,  and  at  length  drove 
through  its  narrow  streets,  it  became  matter  of  no 
small  difficulty  to  restrain  the  boy  within  reasonable 
bounds.  There  was  Sowerberry's,  the  undertaker's, 
just  as  it  used  to  be,  only  smaller  and  less  imposing 
in  appearance  than  he  remembered  it — there  were 
all  the  well-known  shops  and  houses,  with  almost  ev 
ery  one  of  which  he  had  some  slight  incident  con 
nected — there  was  Gamfield's  cart,  the  very  cart  he 
used  to  have,  standing  at  the  old  public-house  door — 
there  was  the  work-house,  the  dreary  prison  of  his 
youthful  days,  with  its  dismal  windows  frowning  on 
the  street — there  was  the  same  lean  porter  standing 
at  the  gate,  at  sight  of  whom  Oliver  involuntarily 
shrunk  back,  and  then  laughed  at  himself  for  being 
so  foolish,  then  cried,  then  laughed  again — there  were 
scores  of  faces  at  the  doors  and  windows  that  he  knew 
quite  well — there  was  nearly  every  thing  as  if  he 
had  left  it  but  yesterday,  and  all  his  recent  life  had 
been  but  a  happy  dream. 

But  it  was  pure,  earnest,  joyful  reality.  They 
drove  straight  to  the  door  of  the  chief  hotel  (which 
Oliver  used  to  stare  up  at  with  awe,  and  think  a 
mighty  palace,  but  which  had  somehow  fallen  off  in 
grandeur  and  size);  and  here  was  Mr.  Grim  wig  all 
ready  to  receive  them,  kissing  the  young  lady,  and 
the  old  one  too,  when  they  got  out  of  the  coach,  as  if 
he  were  the  grandfather  of  the  whole  party,  all  smiles 
and  kindness,  and  not  offering  to  eat  his  head — no, 
not  once ;  not  even  when  he  contradicted  a  very  old 
postboy  about  the  nearest  road  to  London,  and  main 
tained  he  knew  it  best,  though  he  had  only  come  that 
way  once,  and  that  time  fast  asleep.  There  was  din 
ner  prepared,  and  there  were  bedrooms  ready,  and 
every  thing  was  arranged  as  if  by  magic. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  when  the  hurry  of  the 


first  half  hour  was  over,  the  same  silence  and  con 
straint  prevailed  that  had  marked  their  journey 
down.  Mr.  Brownlow  did  not  join  them  at  dinner, 
but  remained  in  a  separate  room.  The  two  other 
gentlemen  hurried  in  and  out  with  anxious  faces, 
and  during  the  short  intervals  when  they  were  pres 
ent  conversed  apart.  Once  Mrs.  Maylie  was  called 
away,  and,  after  being  absent  for  nearly  an  hour,  re 
turned  with  eyes  swollen  with  weeping.  All  these 
things  made  Rose  and  Oliver,  who  were  not  in  any 
new  secrets,  nervous  and  uncomfortable.  They  sat 
wondering,  in  silence ;  or,  if  they  exchanged  a  few 
words,  spoke  in  whispers,  as  if  they  were  afraid  to 
hear  the  sound  of  their  own  voices. 

At  length,  when  nine  o'clock  had  come,  and  they 
began  to  think  they  were  to  hear  no  more  that  night, 
Mr.  Losberne  and  Mr.  Grimwig  entered  the  room,  fol 
lowed  by  Mr.  Brownlow  and  a  man  whom  Oliver  al 
most  shrieked  with  surprise  to  see ;  for  they  told  him 
it  was  his  brother,  and  it  was  the  same  man  he  had 
met  at  the  market-town,  and  seen  looking  in  with 
Fagin  at  the  window  of  his  little  room.  Monks  cast 
a  look  of  hate,  which,  even  then,  he  could  not  dissem 
ble,  at  the  astonished  boy,  and  sat  down  near  the 
door.  Mr.  Brownlow,  who  had  papers  in  his  hand, 
walked  to  a  table  near  which  Rose  and  Oliver  were 
seated. 

"  This  is  a  painful  task,"  said  he,  "  but  these  dec 
larations,  which  have  been  signed  in  London  before 
many  gentlemen,  must  be  in  substance  repeated  here. 
I  would  have  spared  you  the  degradation,  but  we 
must  hear  them  from  your  own  lips  before  we  part, 
and  you  know  why." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  person  addressed,  turning  away 
his  face.  "  Quick.  I  have  almost  done  enough,  I 
think.  Don't  keep  me  here." 

"  This  child,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  drawing  Oliver 
to  him,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  his  head,  "  is  your 
half-brother ;  the  illegitimate  son  of  your  father,  my 
dear  friend  Edwin  Leeford,  by  poor  young  Agnes 
Fleming,  who  died  in  giving  him  birth." 

"  Yes,"  said  Monks,  scowling  at  the  trembling  boy, 
the  beating  of  whose  heart  he  might  have  heard. 
"  That  is  their  bastard  child." 

"The  term  you  use,"  said  Mr. Brownlow,  sternly, 
"is  a  reproach  to  those  who  long  since  passed  be 
yond  the  feeble  censure  of  the  world.  It  reflects 
disgrace  on  no  one  living,  except  you  who  use  it. 
Let  that  pass.  He  was  born  in  this  town." 

"  In  the  work-house  of  this  town,"  was  the  sullen 
reply.  "  You  have  the  story  there."  He  pointed  im 
patiently  to  the  papers  as  he  spoke. 

"I  must  have  it  here, too,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow, 
looking  round  upon  the  listeners. 

"  Listen  then !  You !"  returned  Monks.  "  His  fa 
ther  being  taken  ill  at  Rome,  was  joined  by  his  wife, 
my  mother,  from  whom  he  had  been  long  separated, 
who  went  from  Paris  and  took  me  with  her — to  look 
after  his  property,  for  what  I  know,  for  she  had  no 
great  affection  for  him,  nor  he  for  her.  He  knew 
nothing  of  us,  for  his  senses  were  gone,  and  he  slum 
bered  on  till  next  day,  when  he  died.  Among  the 
papers  in  his  desk  were  two,  dated  on  the  night  his 
illness  first  came  on,  directed  to  yourself — "  he  ad 
dressed  himself  to  Mr.  Brownlow — "  and  inclosed  in 
a  few  short  lines  to  you,  with  an  intimation  on  the 


RELUCTANT  ADMISSIONS. 


163 


cover  of  the  package  that  it  was  not  to  be  forwarded 
till  after  he  was  dead.  One  of  these  papers  was  a 
letter  to  this  girl  Agnes  ;  the  other  a  will." 

"  What  of  the  letter  ?"  asked  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  The  letter  ? — A  sheet  of  paper  crossed  and  cross 
ed  again,  with  a  penitent  confession,  and  prayers  to 
God  to  help  her.  He  had  palmed  a  tale  on  the  girl 
that  some  secret  mystery — to  be  explained  one  day 
— prevented  his  marrying  her  just  then ;  and  so  she 
had  gone  on;  trusting  patiently  to  him,  until  she 
trusted  too  far,  and  lost  what  none  could  ever  give 
her  back.  She  was  at  that  time  within  a  few  months 
of  her  confinement.  He  told  her  all  he  had  meant 
to  do  to  hide  her  shame  if  he  had  lived,  and  prayed 
her,  if  he  died,  not  to  curse  his  memory,  or  think  the 
consequences  of  their  sin  would  be  visited  on  her  or 
their  young  child;  for  all  the  guilt  was  his.  He  re 
minded  her  of  the  day  he  had  given  her  the  little 
locket  and  the  ring  with  her  Christian  name  en 
graved  upon  it,  and  a  blank  left  for  that  which  he 
hoped  one  day  to  have  bestowed  upon  her — prayed 
her  yet  to  keep  it,  and  wear  it  next  her  heart,  as  she 
had  done  before — and  then  ran  on  wildly  in  the  same 
words,  over  and  over  again,  as  if  he  had  gone  dis 
tracted.  I  believe  he  had." 

"  The  will,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  as  Oliver's  tears 
fell  fast. 

Monks  was  silent. 

"The  will,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  speaking  for  him, 
"  was  in  the  same  spirit  as  the  letter.  He  talked  of 
miseries  which  his  wife  had  brought  upon  him ;  of 
the  rebellious  disposition,  vice,  malice,  and  prema 
ture  bad  passions  of  you,  his  only  son,  who  had  been 
trained  to  hate  him ;  and  left  you  and  your  mother 
each  an  annuity  of  eight  hundred  pounds.  The  bulk 
of  his  property  he  divided  into  two  equal  portions — 
one  for  Agues  Fleming,  and  the  other  for  their  child, 
if  it  should  be  born  alive  and  ever  come  of  age.  If  it 
were  a  girl,  it  was  to  inherit  the  money  uncondition 
ally  ;  but  if  a  boy,  only  on  the  stipulation  that  in  his 
minority  he  should  never  have  stained  his  name  with 
any  public  act  of  dishonor,  meanness,  cowardice,  or 
wrong.  He  did  this,  he  said,  to  mark  his  confidence 
in  the  mother,  and  his  conviction — only  strengthen 
ed  by  approaching  death — that  the  child  would  share 
her  gentle  heart  and  noble  nature.  If  he  were  dis 
appointed  in  this  expectation,  then  the  money  was 
to  come  to  you;  for  then,  and  not  till  then,  when 
both  children  were  equal,  would  he  recognize  your 
prior  claim  upon  his  purse,  who  had  none  upon  his 
heart,  but  had,  from  an  infant,  repulsed  him  with 
coldness  and  aversion. 

"My  mother,"  said  Monks,  in  a  louder  tone,  "did 
what  a  woman  should  have  done.  She  burned  this 
will.  The  letter  never  reached  its  destination  ;  but 
that  and  other  proofs  she  kept,  in  case  they  ever 
tried  to  lie  away  the  blot.  The  girl's  father  had  the 
truth  from  her  with  every  aggravation  that  her  vio 
lent  hate — I  love  her  for  it  now — could  add.  Goad 
ed  by  shame  and  dishonor,  he  fled  with  his  children 
into  a  remote  corner  of  Wales,  changing  his  very 
name,  that  his  friends  might  never  know  of  his  re 
treat  ;  and  here,  no  great  while  afterward,  he  was 
found  dead  in  his  bed.  The  girl  had  left  her  home, 
in  secret,  some  weeks  before ;  he  had  searched  for 
her,  on  foot,  in  every  town  and  village  near ;  it  was 


on  the  night  when  he  returned  home,  assured  that 
she  had  destroyed  herself  to  hide  her  shame  and  his, 
that  his  old  heart  broke. 

There  was  a  short  silence  here,  until  Mr.  Brown- 
low  took  up  the  thread  of  the  narrative. 

"  Years  after  this,"  he  said,  "  this  man's — Edward 
Leeford's  —  mother  came  to  me.  He  had  left  her 
when  only  eighteen;  robbed  her  of  jewels  and  mon 
ey;  gambled,  squandered,  forged,  and  fled  to  Lon 
don,  where  for  two  years  he  had  associated  with  the 
lowest  outcasts.  She  was  sinking  under  a  painful 
and  incurable  disease,  and  wished  to  recover  him  be 
fore  she  died.  Inquiries  were  set  on  foot,  and  strict 
searches  made.  They  were  unavailing  for  a  long 
time,  but  ultimately  successful ;  and  he  went  back 
with  her  to  France." 

"  There  she  died,"  said  Monks,  "  after  a  lingering 
illness ;  and  on  her  death-bed  she  bequeathed  these 
secrets  to  me,  together  with  her  unquenchable  and 
deadly  hatred  of  all  whom  they  involved — though 
she  need  not  have  left  me  that,  for  I  had  inherited 
it  long  before.  She  would  not  believe  that  the  girl 
had  destroyed  herself  and  the  child  too,  but  was 
filled  with  the  impression  that  a  male  child  had  been 
born,  and  was  alive.  I  swore  to  her,  if  ever  it  cross 
ed  my  path,  to  hunt  it  down ;  never  to  let  it  rest ;  to 
pursue  it  with  the  bitterest  and  most  unrelenting 
animosity ;  to  vent  upon  it  the  hatred  that  I  deeply 
felt,  and  to  spit  upon  the  empty  vaunt  of  that  insult 
ing  will  by  dragging  it,  if  I  could,  to  the  very  gal 
lows-foot.  She  was  right.  He  came  in  my  way  at 
last.  I  began  well ;  and,  but  for  babbling  drabs,  I 
would  have  finished  as  I  began !" 

As  the  villain  folded  his  arms  tight  together,  and 
muttered  curses  on  himself  in  the  impotence  of  baf 
fled  malice,  Mr.  Brownlow  turned  to  the  terrified 
group  beside  him,  and  explained  that  the  Jew,  who 
had  been  his  old  accomplice  and  confidant,  had  a 
large  reward  for  keeping  Oliver  ensnared,  of  which 
some  part  was  to  be  given  up  in  the  event  of  his  be 
ing  rescued,  and  that  a  dispute  on  this  head  had  led 
to  their  visit  to  the  country  house  for  the  purpose  of 
identifying  him. 

"  The  locket  and  ring  ?"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  turn 
ing  to  Monks. 

"  I  bought  them  from  the  man  and  woman  I  told 
you  of,  who  stole  them  from  the  nurse,  who  stole 
them  from  the  corpse,"  answered  Monks,  without 
raising  his  eyes.  "  You  know  what  became  of  them." 

Mr.  Brownlow  merely  nodded  to  Mr.  Grimwig,  who, 
disappearing  with  great  alacrity,  shortly  returned, 
pushing  in  Mrs.  Bumble,  and  dragging  her  unwilling 
consort  after  him. 

"  Do  my  hi's  deceive  me !"  cried  Mr.  Bumble,  with 
ill-feigned  enthusiasm,  "  or  is  that  little  Oliver  ?  Oh 
Ol-i-ver,  if  you  know'd  how  I've  been  a-grieving  for 
you — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  fool !"  murmured  Mrs.  Bumble. 

"Isn't  natur  natur,  Mrs.  Bumble?"  remonstrated 
the  work-house  master.  "  Can't  I  be  supposed  to 
feel — /  as  brought  him  up  porochially — when  I  see 
him  a  setting  here  among  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
the  very  affablest  description !  I  always  loved  that 
boy  as  if  he'd  been  my — my — my  own  grandfather," 
said  Mr.  Bumble,  halting  for  an  appropriate  compar 
ison.  "  Master  Oliver,  my  dear,  you  remember  the 


Iu4 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


blessed  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat  ?  Ah !  he 
went  to  heaven  last  week,  in  a  oak  coffin  with  plated 
handles,  Oliver." 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  tartly ;  "  suppress 
your  feelings." 

"  I  will  do  my  endeavors,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble. 
"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  I  hope  you  are  very  well." 

This  salutation  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Brownlow, 
who  had  stepped  up  to  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
respectable  couple.  He  inquired,  as  he  pointed  to 
Monks : 

"  Do  you  know  that  person  ?" 

li  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Bumble,  flatly. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  ?"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  address 
ing  her  spouse. 

"  I  never  saw  him  in  all  my  life,"  said  Mr.  Bum 
ble. 

"  Nor  sold  him  any  thing,  perhaps  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Bumble. 

"You  never  had,  perhaps,  a  certain  gold  locket 
and  ring  ?"  said  Mr.  Brownlow. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  matron.  "  Why  are 
we  brought  here  to  answer  to  such  nonsense  as  this  ?" 

Again  Mr.  Brownlow  nodded  to  Mr.  Grimwig ;  and 
again  that  gentleman  limped  away  with  extraordi 
nary  readiness.  But  not  again  did  he  return  with  a 
stout  man  and  his  wife ;  for  this  time  he  led  in  two 
palsied  women,  who  shook  and  tottered  as  they 
walked. 

"You  shut  the  door  the  night  old  Sally  died,"  said 
the  foremost  one,  raising  her  shriveled  hand,  "  but 
you  couldn't  shut  out  the  sound,  nor  stop  the  chinks." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  other,  looking  round  her  and 
wagging  her  toothless  jaws.  "  No,  no,  no." 

"  We  heard  her  try  to  tell  you  what  she'd  done, 
and  saw  you  take  a  paper  from  her  hand,  and  watch 
ed  you  too,  next  day,  to  the  pawnbroker's  shop,"  said 
the  first. 

"Yes,"  added  the  second,  "and  it  was  a  'locket 
and  gold  ring.'  We  found  out  that,  and  saw  it  given 
you.  We  were  by.  Oh !  we  were  by." 

"And  we  know  more  than  that,"  resumed  the  first, 
"  for  she  told  us  often,  long  ago,  that  the  young  moth 
er  had  told  her  that,  feeling  she  should  never  get 
over  it,  she  was  on  her  way,  at  the  time  she  was  tak 
en  ill,  to  die  near  the  grave  of  the  father  of  the  child." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  pawnbroker  himself?" 
asked  Mr.  Grimwig,  with  a  motion  toward  the  door. 

"  No,"  replied  the  woman ;  "  if  he  " — she  pointed 
to  Monks — "  has  been  coward  enough  to  confess,  as  I 
see  he  has,  and  you  have  sounded  all  these  hags  till 
you  have  found  the  right  ones,  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say.  I  did  sell  them,  and  they're  where  you'll 
never  get  them.  What  then  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow,  "  except  that  it 
remains  for  us  to  take  care  that  neither  of  you  is  em 
ployed  in  a  situation  of  trust  again.  You  may  leave 
the  room." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Bumble,  looking  about  him  with 
great  ruefulness,  as  Mr.  Grimwig  disappeared  with 
the  two  old  women — "  I  hope  that  this  unfortunate 
little  circumstance  will  not  deprive  me  of  my  poro- 
chial  office  ?" 

"  Indeed  it  will,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  You 
may  make  up  your  mind  to  that,  and  think  yourself 
well  off  besides." 


"  It  was  all  Mrs.  Bumble.  She  would  do  it,"  urged 
Mr.  Bumble,  first  looking  round  to  ascertain  that  his 
partner  had  left  the  room. 

"  That  is  no  excuse,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  You 
were  present  on  the  occasion  of  the  destruction  of 
these  trinkets,  and  indeed  are  the  more  guilty  of  the 
two,  in  the  eye  of  the  law ;  for  the  law  supposes  that 
your  wife  acts  under  your  direction." 

"If  the  law  supposes  that,"  said  Mr.  Bumble, 
squeezing  his  hat  emphatically  in  both  hands,  "  the 
law  is  a  ass — a  idiot.  If  that's  the  eye  of  the  law, 
the  law  is  a  bachelor ;  and  the  worst  I  wish  the  law 
is,  that  his  eye  may  be  opened  by  experience — by  ex 
perience." 

Laying  great  stress  on  the  repetition  of  these  two 
words,  Mr.  Bumble  fixed  his  hat  on  very  tight,  and, 
putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  followed  his  help 
mate  down  stairs. 

"Young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  turning  to  Rose, 
"give  me  your  hand.  Do  not  tremble.  You  need 
not  fear  to  hear  the  few  remaining  words  we  have  to 
say." 

"  If  they  have — I  do  not  know  how  they  can,  but 
if  they  have — any  reference  to  me,"  said  Rose,  "  pray 
let  me  hear  them  at  some  other  time.  I  have  not 
strength  or  spirits  now." 

"  Nay,"  returned  the  old  gentleman,  drawing  her 
arm  through  his;  "you  have  more  fortitude  than 
this,  I  am  sure.  Do  you  know  this  young  lady,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Monks. 

"  I  never  saw  you  before,"  said  Rose,  faintly. 

"  I  have  seen  you  often,"  returned  Monks. 

"  The  father  of  the  unhappy  Agnes  had  two  daugh 
ters,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  What  was  the  fate  of 
the  other — the  child?" 

"  The  child,"  replied  Monks ;  "  when  her  father 
died  in  a  strange  place,  in  a  strange  name,  without  a 
letter,  book,  or  scrap  of  paper  that  yielded  the  faint 
est  clue  by  which  his  friends  or  relatives  could  be 
traced — the  child  was  taken  by  some  wretched  cot 
tagers,  who  reared  it  as  their  own." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  signing  to  Mrs.  May- 
lie  to  approach.  "  Go  on !" 

"  You  couldn't  find  the  spot  to  which  these  people 
had  repaired,"  said  Monks ;  "  but  where  friendship 
fails,  hatred  will  often  force  a  way.  My  mother 
found  it,  after  a  year  of  cunning  search — ay,  and 
found  the  child." 

"She  took  it,  did  she?" 

"  No.  The  people  were  poor  and  began  to  sicken 
— at  least  the  man  did — of  their  fine  humanity ;  so 
she  left  it  with  them,  giving  them  a  small  present  of 
money  which  would  not  last  long,  and  promising 
more,  which  she  never  meant  to  send.  She  didn't 
quite  rely,  however,  on  their  discontent  and  poverty 
for  the  child's  unhappiness,  but  told  the  histoiy  of 
her  sister's  shame,  with  such  alterations  as  suited 
her ;  bade  them  take  good  heed  of  the  child,  for  she 
came  of  bad  blood ;  and  told  them  she  was  illegiti 
mate,  and  sure  to  go  wrong  at  one  time  or  other. 
The  circumstances  countenanced  all  this ;  the  people 
believed  it ;  and  there  the  child  dragged  on  an  ex 
istence,  miserable  enough  even  to  satisfy  us,  until  a 
widow  lady,  residing  then  at  Chester,  saw  the  girl 
by  chance,  pitied  her,  and  took  her  home.  There  was 
some  cursed  spell,  I  think,  against  us  ;  for  in  spite  of 


OLIVER  FINDS  A  NEW  RELATION. 


165 


all  our  efforts  she  remained  there  and  was  happy.  I 
lost  sight  of  her  two  or  three  years  ago,  and  saw  her 
no  more  until  a  few  months  back." 

"  Do  you  see  her  now  ?" 

"  Yes.     Leaning  on  your  arm." 

"  But  not  the  less  my  niece,"  cried  Mrs.  Maylie, 
folding  the  fainting  girl  in  her  arms ;  "  not  the  less 
my  dearest  child.  I  would  not  lose  her  now  for  all 
the  treasures  of  the  world.  My  sweet  companion, 
my  own  dear  girl !" 

"  The  only  friend  I  ever  had,"  cried  Rose,  clinging 
to  her.  "  The  kindest,  best  of  friends.  My  heart 
will  burst.  I  can  not  bear  all  this !" 

"  You  have  borne  more,  and  have  been  through 


Joy  and  grief  were  mingled  in  the  cup ;  but  there 
were  no  bitter  tears :  for  even  grief  itself  arose  so 
softened,  and  clothed  in  such  sweet  and  tender  rec 
ollections,  that  it  became  a  solemn  pleasure,  and  lost 
all  character  of  pain. 

They  were  a  long,  long  time  alone.  A  soft  tap  at 
the  door  at  length  announced  that  some  one  was 
without.  Oliver  opened  it,  glided  away,  and  gave 
place  to  Harry  Maylie. 

"  I  know  it  all,"  he  said,  taking  a  seat  beside  the 
lovely  girl.  "  Dear  Rose,  I  know  it  all." 

"  I  am  not  here  by  accident,"  he  added,  after  a 
lengthened  silence;  "nor  have  I  heard  all  this  to 
night,  for  I  knew  it  yesterday — only  yesterday.  Do 


"DO  YOU  KNOW  THIS  YOITNG   LADJT,  SIB?" 


all  the  best  and  gentlest  creature  that  ever  shed 
happiness  on  every  one  she  knew,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie, 
embracing  her  tenderly.  "  Come,  come,  my  love,  re 
member  who  this  is  who  waits  to  clasp  you  in  his 
arms,  poor  child !  See  here — look,  look,  my  dear !" 

"  Not  aunt,"  cried  Oliver,  throwing  his  arms  about 
her  neck ;  "  I'll  never  call  her  aunt — sister,  my  own 
dear  sister,  that  something  taught  my  heart  to  love 
so  dearly  from  the  first !  Rose !  dear,  darling 
Rose!" 

Let  the  tears  which  fell,  and  the  broken  words 
which  were  exchanged  in  the  long  close  embrace  be 
tween  the  orphans,  be  sacred.  A  father,  sister,  and 
mother  were  gained  and  lost  in  that  one  moment. 


you  guess  that  I  have  come  to  remind  you  of  a 
promise  ?" 

"  Stay,"  said  Rose.     "  You  do  know  all." 

"All.  You  gave  me  leave,  at  any  time  within  a 
year,  to  renew  the  subject  of  our  last  discourse." 

"  I  did." 

"  Not  to  press  you  to  alter  your  determination," 
pursued  the  young  man,  "  but  to  hear  you  repeat  it, 
if  you  would.  I  was  to  lay  whatever  of  station  or 
fortune  I  might  possess  at  your  feet ;  and  if  you  still 
adhered  to  your  former  determination,  I  pledged  my 
self,  by  no  word  or  act,  to  seek  to  change  it." 

"  The  same  reasons  which  influenced  nie  then  will 
influence  me  now,"  said  Rose,  firmly.  "If  I  ever 


IOC 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


owed  a  strict  and  rigid  duty  to  her  whose  goodness 
saved  me  from  a  life  of  indigence  and  suffering,  when 
should  I  ever  feel  it  as  I  should  to-night  ?  It  is  a 
struggle,"  said  Rose,  "  but  one  I  am  proud  to  make ; 
it  is  a  pang,  but  one  my  heart  shall  bear." 

"  The  disclosure  of  to-night — "  Harry  began. 

"  The  disclosure  of  to-night/'  replied  Rose,  softly, 
"  leaves  me  in  the  same  position,  with  reference  to 
you,  as  that  in  which  I  stood  before." 

"  You  harden  your  heart  against  me,  Rose,"  urged 
her  lover. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  Harry,"  said  the  young  lady,  bursting 
into  tears,  "  I  wish  I  could,  and  spare  myself  this 
pain." 

"  Then  why  inflict  *t  on  yourself?"  said  Harry,  tak 
ing  her  hand.  "  Think,  dear  Rose,  think  what  you 
have  heard  to-night." 

"  And  what  have  I  heard !  What  have  I  heard !" 
cried  Rose.  "  That  a  sense  of  his  deep  disgrace  so 
worked  upon  my  own  father  that  he  shunned  all — 
there,  we  have  said  enough,  Harry,  we  have  said 
enough." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,"  said  the  young  man,  detaining 
her  as  she  rose.  "  My  hopes,  my  wishes,  prospects, 
feelings — every  thought  in  life  except  my  love  for 
you — have  undergone  a  change.  I  offer  you,  now, 
no  distinction  among  a  bustling  crowd  ;  no  mingling 
with  a  world  of  malice  and  detraction,  where  the 
blood  is  called  into  honest  cheeks  by  aught  but  real 
disgrace  and  shame  ;  but  a  home — a  heart  and  home 
— yes,  dearest  Rose ;  and  those,  and  those  alone,  are 
all  I  have  to  offer." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  faltered. 

"  I  mean  but  this — that  when  I  left  you  last,  I  left 
you  with  a  firm  determination  to  level  all  fancied 
barriers  between  yourself  and  me ;  resolved  that  if 
my  world  could  not  be  yours,  I  would  make  yours 
mine ;  that  no  pride  of  birth  should  curl  the  lip  at 
you,  for  I  would  turn  from  it.  This  I  have  'done. 
Those  who  have  shrunk  from  me  because  of  this, 
have  shrunk  from  you,  and  proved  you  so  far  right. 
Such  power  and  patronage,  such  relatives  of  influence 
and  rank,  as  smiled  upon  me  then,  look  coldly  now ; 
but  there  are  smiling  fields  and  waving  trees  in  En 
gland's  richest  county ;  and  by  one  village  church- 
mine,  Rose,  my  own ! — there  stands  a  rustic  dwelling 
which  you  can  make  me  prouder  of  than  all  the 
hopes  I  have  renounced,  measured  a  thousand-fold. 
This  is  my  rank  and  station  now,  and  here  I  lay  it 

down !" 

****** 

"  It's  a  trying  thing  waiting  supper  for  lovers," 
said  Mr.  Grimwig,  waking  up,  and  pulling  his  pock 
et-handkerchief  from  over  his  head. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  supper  had  been  waiting  a  most 
unreasonable  time.  Neither  Mrs.  Maylie,  nor  Harry, 
nor  Rose  (who  all  came  in  together),  could  offer  a 
word  in  extenuation. 

"I  had  serious  thoughts  of  eating  my  head  to 
night,"  said  Mr.  Grimwig,  "  for  I  began  to  think  I 
should  get  nothing  else.  I'll  take  the  liberty,  if 
you'll  allow  me,  of  saluting  the  bride  that  is  to  be." 

Mr.  Grimwig  lost  no  time  in  carrying  this  notice 
into  effect  upon  the  blushing  girl ;  and  the  example 
being  contagious,  was  followed  both  by  the  doctor 
and  Mr.  Brownlow :  some  people  affirm  that  Harry 


Maylie  had  been  observed  to  set  it,  originally,  in  a 
dark  room  adjoining ;  but  the  best  authorities  con 
sider  this  downright  scandal,  he  being  young  and  a 
clergyman. 

"  Oliver,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Maylie,  "  where  have 
you  been,  and  why  do  you  look  so  sad  ?  There  are 
tears  stealing  down  your  face  at  this  moment.  What 
is  the  matter  ?" 

It  is  a  world  of  disappointment  —  often  to  the 
hopes  we  most  cherish,  and  hopes  that  do  our  nature 
the  greatest  honor. 

Poor  Dick  was  dead ! 


CHAPTER  LII. 

FAGIN'S  LAST  NIGHT  ALIVE. 

rTIHE  court  was  paved  from  floor  to  roof  with  hu- 
i  man  faces.  Inquisitive  and  eager  eyes  peered 
from  every  inch  of  space.  From  the  rail  before  the 
dock,  away  into  the  sharpest  angle  of  the  smallest 
corner  in  the  galleries,  all  looks  were  fixed  upon  one 
man — Fagin.  Before  him  and  behind — above,  be 
low,  on  the  right  and  on  the  left  —  he  seemed  to 
stand  surrounded  by  a  firmament  all  .bright  with 
gleaming  eyes. 

He  stood  there,  in  all  this  glare  of  living  light, 
with  one  hand  resting  on  the  wooden  slab  before 
him,  the  other  held  to  his  ear,  and  his  head  thrust 
forward  to  enable  him  to  catch  with  greater  dis 
tinctness  every  word  that  fell  from  the  presiding 
judge,  who  was  delivering  his  charge  to  the  jury. 
At  times  he  turned  his  eyes  sharply  upon  them,  to 
observe  the  effect  of  the  slightest  feather-weight  in 
his  favor;  and  when  the  points  against  him  were 
stated  with  terrible  distinctness,  looked  toward  his 
counsel,  in  mute  appeal  that  he  would,  even  then, 
urge  something  in  his  behalf.  Beyond  these  mani 
festations  of  anxiety,  he  stirred  not  hand  or  foot. 
He  had  scarcely  moved  since  the  trial  began ;  and 
now  that  the  judge  ceased  to  speak,  he  still  remain 
ed  in  the  same  strained  attitude  of  close  attention, 
with  his  gaze  bent  on  him,  as  though  he  listened 
still. 

A  slight  bustle  in  the  court  recalled  him  to  him 
self.  Looking  round,  he  saw  that  the  jurymen  had 
turned  together,  to  consider  of  their  verdict.  As  his 
eyes  wandered  to  the  gallery,  he  could  see  the  people 
rising  above  each  other  to  see  his  face,  some  hastily 
applying  their  glasses  to  their  eyes,  and  others  whis 
pering  their  neighbors  with  looks  expressive  of  ab 
horrence.  A  few  there  were  who  seemed  unmindful 
of  him,  and  looked  only  to  the  jury,  in  impatient 
wonder  how  they  could  delay.  But  in  no  one  face 
— not  even  among  the  women,  of  whom  there  were 
many  there  —  could  he  read  the  faintest  sympathy 
with  himself,  or  any  feeling  but  one  of  all-absorbing 
interest  that  he  should  be  condemned. 

As  he  saw  all  this  in  one  bewildered  glance,  the 
death-like  stillness  came  again,  and  looking  back,  he 
saw  that  the  jurymen  had  turned  toward  the  judge. 
Hush! 

They  only  sought  permission  to  retire. 

He  looked  wistfully  into  their  faces,  one  by  one, 
when  they  passed  out,  as  though  to  see  which  way 


WAXDEHIXG  MIND  AXD  IMPRISONED  BODY. 


167 


the  greater  number  leaned;  but  that  was  fruitless. 
The  jailer  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  He  follow 
ed  mechanically  to  the  end  of  the  dock,  and  sat  down 
on  a  chair.  The  man  pointed  it  out,  or  he  would  not 
have  seen  it. 

He  looked  up  into  the  gallery  again.  Some  of  the 
people  were  eating,  and  some  fanning  themselves 
with  handkerchiefs ;  for  the  crowded  place  was  very 
hot.  There  was  one  young  man  sketching  his  face 
in  a  little  note-book.  He  wondered  whether  it  was 
like,  and  looked  on  when  the  artist  broke  his  pencil- 
point  and  made  another  with  his  knife,  as  any  idle 
spectator  might  have  done. 

In  the  same  way,  when  he  turned  his  eyes  toward 
the  judge,  his  mind  began  to  busy  itself  with  the 
fashion  of  his  dress,  and  what  it  cost,  and  how  he 
put  it  on.  There  was  an  old  fat  gentleman  on  the 
bench,  too,  who  had  gone  out  some  half  an  hour 
before,  and  now  come  back.  He  wondered  within 
himself  whether  this  man  had  been  to  get  his  dinner, 
what  he  had  had,  and  where  he  had  had  it ;  and  pur 
sued  this  train  of  careless  thought  until  some  new 
object  caught  his  eye  and  roused  another. 

Not.  that,  all  this  time,  his  mind  was  for  an  instant 
free  from  one  oppressive,  overwhelming  sense  of  the 
grave  that  opened  at  his  feet :  it  was  ever  present  to 
him,  but  in  a  vague  and  general  way,  and  he  could 
not  fix  his  thoughfs  upon  it.  Thus,  even  while  he 
trembled,  and  turned  burning  hot  at  the  idea  of 
speedy  death,  he  fell  to  counting  the  iron  spikes  be 
fore  him,  and  wondering  how  the  head  of  one  had 
been  broken  off,  and  whether  they  would  mend  it,  or 
leave  it  as  it  was.  Then  he  thought  of  all  the  hor 
rors  of  the  gallows  and  the  scaffold — and  stopped  to 
watch  a  man  sprinkling  the  floor  to  cool  it  —  and 
then  went  on  to  think  again. 

At  length  there  was  a  cry  of  silence,  and  a  breath 
less  look  from  all  toward  the  door.  The  jury  re 
turned,  and  passed  him  close.  He  could  glean  noth 
ing  from  their  faces ;  they  might  as  well  have  been 
of  stone.  Perfect  stillness  ensued — not  a  rustle — not 
a  breath — Guilty. 

The  building  rang  with  a  tremendous  shout,  and 
another,  and  another,  and  then  it  echoed  loud  groans, 
that  gathered  strength  as. they  swelled  out,  like  an 
gry  thunder.  It  was  a  peal  of  joy  from  the  populace 
outside,  greeting  the  news  that  he  would  die  on 
Monday. 

The  noise  subsided,  and  he  was  asked  if  he  had 
any  thing  to  say  why  sentence  of  death  should  not 
be  passed  upon  him.  He  had  resumed  his  listening 
attitude,  and  looked  intently  at  his  questioner  while 
the  demand  was  made ;  but  it  was  twice  repeated 
before  he  seemed  to  hear  it,  and  then  he  only  mut 
tered  that  he  was  an  old  man — an  old  man — an  old 
man — and  so,  dropping  into  a  whisper,  was  silent 
again. 

The  judge  assumed  the  black  cap,  and  the  prisoner 
still  stood  with  the  same  air  and  gesture.  A  woman 
in  the  gallery  uttered  some  exclamation,  called  forth 
by  this  dread  solemnity;  he  looked  hastily  up  as  if 
angry  at  the  interruption,  and  bent  forward  yet  more 
attentively.  The  address  was  solemn  and  impress 
ive,  the  sentence  fearful  to  hear.  But  he  stood  like 
a  marble  figure,  without  the  motion  of  a  nerve.  His 
.  haggard  face  was  still  thrust  forward,  lib  uuder-jaw 


hanging  down,  and  his  eyes  staring  out  before  him, 
|  when  the  jailer  put  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  beck 
oned  him  away.  He  gazed  stupidly  about  him  for 
an  instant,  and  obeyed. 

They  led  him  through  a  paved  room  under  the 
court,  where  some  prisoners  were  waiting  till  their 
turns  came,  and  others  were  talking  to  their  friends, 
who  crowded  round  a  grate  which  looked  into  the 
open  yard.  There  was  nobody  there  to  speak  to 
him;  but,  as  he  passed,  the  prisoners  fell  back  to  ren 
der  him  more  visible  to  the  people  who  were  cling 
ing  to  the  bars ;  and  they  assailed  him  with  oppro 
brious  names,  and  screeched  and  hissed.  He  shook 
his  fist,  and  would  have  spat  upon  them ;  but  his 
conductors  hurried  him  on,  through  a  gloomy  pas 
sage  lighted  by  a  few  dim  lamps,  into  the  interior  of 
the  prison. 

Here  he  was  searched,  that  he  might  not  have 
|  about  him  the  means  of  anticipating  the  law ;  this 
j  ceremony  performed,  they  led  him  to  one  of  the  con 
demned  cells,  and  left  him  there — alone. 

He  sat  down  on  a  stone  bench  opposite  the  door, 
which  served  for  seat  and  bedstead  ;  and  casting  his 
blood-shot  eyes  upon  the  ground,  tried  to  collect  his 
thoughts.  After  a  while  he  began  to  remember  a 
few  disjointed  fragments  of  what  the  judge  had  said, 
though  it  had  seemed  to  him  at  the  time  that  he 
could  not  hear  a  word.  These  gradually  fell  into 
their  proper  places,  and  by  degrees  suggested  more ; 
so  that  in  a  little  time  he  had  the  whole,  almost  as 
it  was  delivered.  To  be  hanged  by  the  neck  till  he 
was  dead — that  was  the  end.  To  be  hanged  by  the 
neck  till  he  was  dead. 

As  it  came  on  very  dark,  he  began  to  think  of  all 
the  men  he  had  known  who  had  died  upon  the  scaf 
fold — some  of  them  through  his  means.  They  rose 
up  in  such  quick  succession  that  he  could  hardly 
count  them.  He  had  seen  some  of  them  die — and 
had  joked,  too,  because  they  died  with  prayers  upon 
their  lips.  With  what  a  rattling  noise  the  drop 
went  down  !  and  how  suddenly  they  changed  from 
strong  and  vigorous  men  to  dangling  heaps  of 
clothes! 

Some  of  them  might  have  inhabited  that  very  cell 
— sat  upon  that  very  spot.  It  was  very  dark ;  why 
didn't  they  bring  a  light  ?  The  cell  had  been  built 
for  many  years.  Scores  of  men  must  have  passed 
their  last  hours  there.  It  was  like  sitting  in  a  vault 
strewn  with  dead  bodies  —  the  cap,  the  noose,  the 
pinioned  arms,  the  faces  that  he  knew,  even  beneath 
that  hideous  veil. — Light !  light ! 

At  length,  when  his  hands  were  raw  with  beating 

against  the  heavy  door  and  walls,  two  men  appeared, 

]  one  bearing  a  candle,  which  he  thrust  into  an  iron 

j  candlestick  fixed  against  the  wall,  the  other  dragging 

in  a  mattress  on  which  to  pass  the  night;  for  the 

prisoner  was  to  be  left  alone  no  more. 

Then  came  night  —  dark,  dismal,  silent  night. 
Other  watchers  are  glad  to  hear  the  church-clocks 
strike,  for  they  tell  of  life  and  coming  day.  To  him 
they  brought  despair.  The  boom  of  every  iron  bell 
came  laden  with  the  one  deep,  hollow  sound — Death. 
What  availed  the  noise  and  bustle  of  cheerful  morn 
ing,  which  penetrated  even  there,  to  him  ?  It  was 
another  form  of  knell,  with  mockery  added  to  the 
warning. 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


The  day  passed  off.  Day  ?  There  was  no  day ; 
it  was  gone  as  soon  as  come  —  and  night  came  on 
again  ;  night  so  long,  and  yet  so  short ;  long  in  its 
dreadful  silence,  and  short  in  its  fleeting  hours.  At 
one  time  he  raved  and  blasphemed ;  and  at  another 
howled  and  tore  his  hair.  Venerable  men  of  his  own 
persuasion  had  come  to  pray  beside  him,  but  he  had 
driven  them  away  with  curses.  They  renewed  their 
charitable  efforts,  and  he  beat  them  off. 

Saturday  night.  He  had  only  one  night  more  to 
live.  And  as  he  thought  of  this,  the  day  broke — 
Sunday. 

It  was  not  until  the  night  of  this  last  awful  day, 
that  a  withering  sense  of  his  helpless,  desperate  state 
came  in  its  full  intensity  upon  his  blighted  soul ;  not 
that  he  had  ever  held  any  denned  or  positive  hope. of 


his  head  was  bandaged  with  a  linen  cloth.  His  red 
hair  hung  down  upon  his  bloodless  face ;  his  beard 
was  torn,  and  twisted  into  knots ;  his  eyes  shone 
with  a  terrible  light;  his  unwashed  flesh  crackled 
with  the  fever  that  burned  him  up.  Eight — nine — 
ten.  If  it  was  not  a  trick  to  frighten  him,  and  those 
were  the  real  hours  treading  on  each  other's  heels, 
where  would  he  be  when  they  came  round  again ! 
Eleven!  Another  struck,  before  the  voice  of  the 
previous  hour  had  ceased  to  vibrate.  At  eight,  he 
would  be  the  only  mourner  in  his  own  funeral  train  ; 
at  eleven — 

Those  dreadful  walls  of  Newgate,  which  have  hid 
den  so  much  misery  and  such  unspeakable  anguish, 
not  only  from  the  eyes,  but,  too  often,  and  too  long, 
from  the  thoughts  of  men,  never  held  so  dread  a 


"  I1E  BAT  DOWN   ON   A   STOA'E   BENCH   OPPOSITE   THE   DOOK." 


mercy,  but  that  he  had  never  been  able  to  consider 
more  than  the  dim  probability  of  dying  so  soon.  He 
had  spoken  little  to  either  of  the  two  men  who  re 
lieved  each  other  in  their  attendance  upon  him ;  and 
they,  for  their  parts,  made  no  effort  to  rouse  his  at 
tention.  He  had  sat  there,  awake,  but  dreaming. 
Now,  he  started  up  every  minute,  and  with  gasping 
mouth  and  burning  skin  hurried  to  and  fro,  in  such 
a  paroxysm  of  fear  and  wrath  that  even  they— used 
to  such  sights — recoiled  from  him  with  horror.  He 
grew  so  terrible,  at  last,  in  all  the  tortures  of  his  evil 
conscience,  that  one  man  could  not  bear  to  sit  there, 
eying  him,  alone ;  and  so  the  two  kept  watch  together. 
He  cowered  down  upon  his  stone  bed,  and  thought 
of  the  past.  He  had  been  wounded  with  some  mis 
siles  from  the  crowd  on  the  day  of  his  capture,  and 


spectacle  as  that.  The  few  who  lingered  as  they 
passed,  and  wondered  what  the  man  was  doing  who 
was  to  be  hanged  to-morrow,  would  have  slept  but 
ill  that  night  if  they  could  have  seen  him. 

From  early  in  the  evening  until  nearly  midnight 
little  groups  of  two  and  three  presented  themselves 
at  the  lodge-gate,  and  inquired,  with  anxious  faces, 
whether  any  reprieve  had  been  received.  These  be 
ing  answered  in  the  negative,  communicated  the  wel 
come  intelligence  to  clusters  in  the  street,  who  point 
ed  out  to  one  another  the  door  from  which  he  must 
come  out,  and  showed  where  the  scaffold  would  be 
built,  and,  walking  with  unwilling  steps  away,  turn 
ed  back  to  conjure  up  the  scene.  By  degrees  they 
fell  off,  one  by  one ;  and  for  an  hour,  in  the  dead  of 
r.ight,  the  street  was  left  to  solitude  and  darkness. 


CLOSING  IX. 


169 


The  space  before  the  prison  was  cleared,  and  a 
few  strong  barriers,  painted  black,  had  been  already 
thrown  across  the  road  to  break  the  pressure  of  the 
expected  crowd,  when  Mr.  Browulow  and  Oliver  ap 
peared  at  the  wicket,  and  presented  an  order  of  ad 
mission  to  the  prisoner,  signed  by  one  of  the  sheriffs. 
They  were  immediately  admitted  into  the  lodge. 

"  Is  the  young  gentleman  to  come  too,  sir  ?"  said 
the  man  whose  duty  it  was  to  conduct  them.  "  It's 
not  a  sight  for  children,  sir."' 

"  It  is  not,  indeed,  my  friend,"  rejoined  Mr.  Brown- 
low  ;  "  but  my  business  with  this  man  is  intimately 
connected  with  him ;  and  as  this  child  has  seen  him 
in  the  full  career  of  his  success  and  villainy,  I  think 
it  as  well — even  at  the  cost  of  some  pain  and  fear — 
that  he  should  see  him  now." 

These  few  words  had  been  said  apart,  so  as  to  be 
inaudible  to  Oliver.  The  man  touched  his  hat,  and 
glancing  at  Oliver  with  some  curiosity,  opened  an 
other  gate  opposite  to  that  by  which  they  had  en 
tered,  and  led  them  on  through  dark  and  winding 
ways  toward  the  cells. 

"  This,"  said  the  man,  stopping  in  a  gloomy  pas 
sage  where  a  couple  of  workmen  were  making  some 
preparations  in  profound  silence — "  this  is  the  place 
he  passes  through.  If  you  step  this  way,  you  can 
see  the  door  he  goes  out  at." 

He  led  them  into  a  stone  kitchen,  fitted  with  cop 
pers  for  dressing  the  prison  food,  and  pointed  to  a 
door.  There  was  an  open  grating  above  it  through 
which  came  the  sound  of  men's  voices,  mingled  with 
the  noise  of  hammering  and  the  throwing  down  of 
boards.  They  were  putting  up  the  scaffold. 

From  this  place  they  passed  through  several  strong 
gates,  opened  by  other  turnkeys  from  the  inner  side, 
and,  having  entered  an  open  yard,  ascended  a  flight 
of  narrow  steps  and  came  into  a  passage  with  a  row 
of  strong  doors  on  the  left  hand.  Motioning  them  to 
remain  where  they  were,  the  turnkey  knocked  at  one 
of  these  with  his  bunch  of  keys.  The  two  attend 
ants,  after  a  little  whispering,  came  out  into  the  pas 
sage,  stretching  themselves  as  if  glad  of  the  tempo 
rary  relief,  and  motioned  the  visitors  to  follow  the 
jailer  into  the  cell.  They  did  so. 

The  condemned  criminal  was  seated  on  his  bed, 
rocking  himself  from  side  to  side,  with  a  countenance 
more  like  that  of  a  snared  beast  than  the  face  of  a 
man.  His  mind  was  evidently  wandering  to  his  old 
life,  for  he  continued  to  mutter,  without  appearing 
conscious  of  their  presence,  otherwise  than  as  a  part 
of  his  vision : 

"Good  boy,  Charley  —  well  done,"  he  mumbled. 
"Oliver  too,  ha!  ha!  ha!  Oliver  too  —  quite  the 
gentleman  now — quite  the — take  that  boy  away  to 
bed !" 

The  jailer  took  the  disengaged  hand  of  Oliver,  and, 
whispering  him  not  to  be  alarmed,  looked  on  with 
out  speaking. 

"  Take  him  away  to  bed !"  cried  Fagin.  "  Do  you 
hear  me,  some  of  you  ?  He  has  been  the — the — some 
how  the  cause  of  all  this.  It's  worth  the  money  to 
bring  him  up  to  it —  Bolter's  throat,  Bill ;  never  mind 
the  girl  —  Bolter's  throat,  as  deep  as  you  can  cut. 
Saw  his  head  off !" 

"  Fagin,"  said  the  jailer. 

"  That's  me  !"  cried  the  Jew,  falling  instantly  into 


the  attitude  of  listening  he  had  assumed  upon  hi* 
trial.  "An  old  man,  my  lord ;  a  very  old,  old  man !" 

"  Here,"  said  the  turnkey,  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  breast  to  keep  him  down,  "here's  somebody  wants 
to  see  you,  to  ask  you  some  questions,  I  suppose.  Fa- 
gin,  Fagiu !  Are  you  a  man  ?" 

"  I  sha'n't  be  one  long,"  he  replied,  looking  up 
with  a  face  retaining  no  human  expression  but  rage 
and  terror.  "  Strike  them  all  dead !  What  right 
have  they  to  butcher  me  ?" 

As  he  spoke  he  caught  sight  of  Oliver  and  Mr. 
Brownlow.  Shrinking  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
seat,  he  demanded  to  know  what  they  wanted  there. 

"  Steady,"  said  the  turnkey,  still  holding  him 
down.  "  Now,  sir,  tell  him  what  you  want.  Quick, 
if  you  please,  for  he  grows  worse  as  the  time  gets  on." 

"  You  have  some  papers,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  ad 
vancing,  "  which  were  placed  in  your  hands,  for  bet 
ter  security,  by  a  man  called  Monks." 

"  It's  all  a  lie  together,"  replied  Fagin.  "  I  haven't 
one — not  one." 

"  For  the  love  of  God,"  said  Mr.  Brownlow,  solemn 
ly,  "  do  not  say  that  now,  upon  the  very  verge  of 
death ;  but  tell  me  where  they  are.  You  know  that 
Sikes  is  dead,  that  Monks  has  confessed,  that  there 
is  no  hope  of  any  further  gain.  Where  are  those 
papers  f " 

"  Oliver,"  cried  Fagin,  beckoning  to  him.  "  Here, 
here !  Let  me  whisper  to  you." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Oliver,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
he  relinquished  Mr.  Brownlow's  hand. 

"  The  papers,"  said  Fagin,  drawing  Oliver  toward 
him,  "  are  in  a  canvas  bag,  in  a  hole  a  little  way  up 
the  chimney  in  the  top  front-room.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you,  my  dear.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Oliver.  "  Let  me  say  a  prayer. 
Do!  Let  me  say  one  prayer.  Say  only  one  upon 
your  knees  with  me,  and  we  will  talk  till  morning." 

"Outside,  outside,"  replied  Fagin,  pushing  the  boy 
before  him  toward  the  door,  and  looking  vacantly 
over  his  head.  "  Say  I've  gone  to  sleep — they'll  be 
lieve  you.  You  can  get  me  out,  if  you  take  me  so. 
Now  then,  now  then  !" 

"  Oh !  God  forgive  this  wretched  man !"  cried  the 
boy,  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

"  That's  right,  that's  right,"  said  Fagin.  "  That'll 
help  us  on.  This  door  first.  If  I  shake  and  tremble 
as  we  pass  the  gallows,  don't  you  mind,  but  hurry 
on.  Now,  now,  now !" 

"  Have  you  nothing  else  to  ask  him,  sir  ?"  inquired 
the  turnkey. 

"  No  other  question,"  replied  Mr.  Brownlow.  "  If 
I  hoped  we  could  recall  him  to  a  sense  of  his  posi 
tion— ; 

"  Nothing  will  do  that,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  shak 
ing  his  head.  "  You  had  better  leave  him." 

The  door  of  the  cell  opened,  and  the  attendants 
returned. 

"  Press  on,  press  on !"  cried  Fagin.  "  Softly,  but 
not  so  slow.  Faster,  faster !" 

The  men  laid  hands  upon  him,  and,  disengaging 
Oliver  from  his  grasp,  held  him  back.  He- struggled 
with  the  power  of  desperation  for  an  instant ;  and 
then  sent  up  cry  upon  cry  that  penetrated  even  those 
massive  walls,  and  rang  in  their  ears  until  they 
reached  the  open  yard. 


170 


OLIVER   TWIST. 


*'  It  was  some  time  before  they  left  the  prison.  Ol 
iver  nearly  swooned  after  this  frightful  scene,  and 
was  so  weak  that  for  an  hour  or  more  he  had  not 
the  strength  to  walk. 

Day  was  dawning  when  they  again  emerged.  A 
great  multitude  had  already  assembled;  the  win 
dows  were  filled  with  people,  smoking  and  playing 
cards  to  beguile  the  time ;  the  crowd  were  pushing, 
quarreling,  joking.  Every  thing  told  of  life  and  ani 
mation  but  one  dark  cluster  of  objects  in  the  centre 
of  all  —  the  black  stage,  the  cross -beam,  the  rope, 
aiid  all  the  hideous  apparatus  of  death. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

AND  LAST. 

THE  fortunes  of  those  who  have  figured  in  this 
tale  are  nearly  closed.  The  little  that  remains 
to  their  historian  to  relate  is  told  in  few  and  simple 
words. 

Before  three  months  had  passed  Rose  Fleming  and 
Harry  Maylie  were  married  in  the  village  chnrch 
Which  was  henceforth  to  be  the  scene  of  the  young 
clergyman's  labors ;  on  the  same  day  they  entered 
into  possession  of  their  new  and  happy  home. 

Mrs.  Maylie  took  up  her  abode  with  her  son  and 
daughter-in-law,  to  enjoy,  during  the  tranquil  re 
mainder  of  her  days,  the  greatest  felicity  that  age 
and  worth  can  know — the  contemplation  of  the  hap 
piness  of  those  on  whom  the  warmest  affections  and 
teuderest  cares  of  a  well-spent  life  have  been  unceas 
ingly  bestowed. 

It  appeared,  on  full  and  careful  investigation,  that 
if  the  wreck  of  property  remaining  in  the  custody 
of  Monks  (which  had  never  prospered  either  in  his 
hands  or  in  those  of  his  mother)  were  equally  di 
vided  between  himself  and  Oliver,  it  would  yield  to 
each  little  more  than  three  thousand  pounds.  By 
the  provisions  of  his  father's  will  Oliver  would  have 
been  entitled  to  the  whole ;  but  Mr.  Brownlow,  un 
willing  to  deprive  the  eldest  son  of  the  opportunity 
of  retrieving  his  former  vices  and  pursuing  an  honest 
career,  proposed  this  mode  of  distribution,  to  which 
his  young  charge  joyfully  acceded. 

Monks,  still  bearing  that  assumed  name,  retired 
with  his  portion  to  a  distant  part  of  the  New  World, 
where,  having  quickly  squandered  it,  he  once  more 
fell  into  his  old  courses,  and,  after  undergoing  a  long 
confinement  for  some  fresh  act  of  fraud  and  knavery, 
at  length  sunk  under  an  attack  of  his  old  disorder, 
and  died  in  prison.  As  far  from  home  died  the  chief 
remaining  members  of  his  friend  Fagin's  gang. 

Mr.  Brownlow  adopted  Oliver  as  his  son.  Remov 
ing  with  him  and  the  old  housekeeper  to  within  a 
mile  of  the  parsonage-house,  where  his  dear  friends 
resided,  he  gratified  the  only  remaining  wish  of  Oli 
ver's  warm  and  earnest  heart,  and  thus  linked  to 
gether  a  little  society  whose  condition  approached 
as  nearly  to  one  of  perfect  happiness  as  can  ever  be 
known  in  this  changing  world. 

Soon  after  the  marriage  of  the  young  people  the 
worthy  doctor  returned  to  Chertsey,  where,  bereft  of 
the  presence  of  his  old  friends,  he  would  have  been 


discontented,  if  his  temperament  had  admitted  of 
such  a  feeling,  and  would  have  turned  quite  peevish, 
if  he  had  known  how.  For  two  or  three  months  he 
contented  himself  with  hinting  that  he  feared  the 
air  began  to  disagree  with  him ;  then,  finding  that 
the  place  really  no  longer  was,  to  him,  what  it  had 
been,  he  settled  his  business  on  his  assistant,  took  a 
bachelor's  cottage  outside  the  village  of  which  his 
young  friend  was  pastor,  and  instantaneously  recov 
ered.  Here  he  took  to  gardening,  planting,  fishing, 
carpentering,  and  various  other  pursuits  of  a  similar 
kind  —  all  undertaken  with  his  characteristic  im 
petuosity.  In  each  and  all  he  has  since  become  fa 
mous  throughout  the  neighborhood  as  a  most  pro 
found  authority. 

Before  his  removal  he  had  managed  to  contract  a 
strong  friendship  for  Mr.  Grimwig,  which  that  eccen 
tric  gentleman  cordially  reciprocated.  He  is  accord 
ingly  visited  by  Mr.  Grimwig  a  great  many  times  in 
the  course  of  the  year.  On  all  such  occasions  Mr. 
Grimwig  plants,  fishes,  and  carpenters  with  great 
ardor ;  doing  every  thing  in  a  very  singular  and  un 
precedented  manner,  but  always  maintaining,  with 
his  favorite  asseveration,  that  his  mode  is  the  right 
one.  On  Sundays  he  never  fails  to  criticise  the  ser 
mon  to  the  young  clergyman's  face,  always  inform 
ing  Mr.  Losberne,  in  strict  confidence,  afterward,  that 
he  considers  it  an  excellent  performance,  but  deems 
it  as  well  not  to  say  so.  It  is  a  standing  and  very 
favorite  joke  for  Mr.  Browulow  to  rally  him  on  his 
old  prophecy  concerning  Oliver,  and  to  remind  him 
of  the  night  on  which  they  sat  with  the  watch  be 
tween  them,  waiting  his  return ;  but  Mr.  Grimwig 
contends  that  he  was  right  in  the  main,  and,  in  proof 
thereof,  remarks  that  Oliver  did  not  come  back  after 
all ;  which  always  calls  forth  a  laugh  on  his  side,  and 
increases  his  good-humor. 

Mr.  Noah  Claypole,  receiving  a  free  pardon  from 
the  Crown  in  consequence  of  being  admitted  ap 
prover  against  Fagin,  and  considering  his  profession 
not  altogether  as  safe  an  one  as  he  could  wish,  was,  for 
some  little  time,  at  a  loss  for  the  means  of  a  liveli 
hood  not  burdened  with  too  much  work.  After  some 
consideration,  he  went  into  business  as  an  Informer, 
in  which  calling  he  realizes  a  genteel  subsistence. 
His  plan  is,  to  walk  out  once  a  Aveek  during  church- 
time,  attended  by  Charlotte,  in  respectable  attire. 
The  lady  faints  away  at  the  doors  of  charitable  pub 
licans,  and  the  gentleman  being  accommodated  with 
threepenny-worth  of  brandy  to  restore  her,  lays  an 
information  next  day,  and  pockets  half  the  penalty. 
Sometimes  Mr.  Claypole  faints  himself,  but  the  result 
is  the  same. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bumble,  deprived  of  their  situations, 
were  gradually  reduced  to  great  indigence  and  mis 
ery,  and  finally  became  paupers  in  that  very  same 
work-house  in  which  they  had  once  lorded  it  over 
others.  Mr.  Bumble  has  been  heard  to  say  that,  in 
this  reverse  and  degradation,  he  has  not  even  spir 
its  to  be  thankful  for  being  separated  from  his 
wife. 

As  to  Mr.  Giles  and  Brittles,  they  still  remain  in 
their  old  posts,  although  the  former  is  bald  and  the 
last-named  boy  quite  gray.  They  sleep  at  the  par- 
sonage,  but  divide  their  attentions  so  equally  among 
its  inmates,  and  Oliver  and  Mr.  Browulow,  and  Mr. 


S  UPPLEMEXTARY. 


171 


Losberne,  that  to  this  day  the  villagers  have  never 
beeu  able  to  discover  to  which  establishment  they 
properly  belong. 

Master  Charles  Bates,  appalled  by  Sikes's  crime, 
fell  into  a  train  of  reflection  whether  an  honest  life 
was  not,  after  all,  the  best.  Arriving  at  the  conclu 
sion  that  it  certainly  was,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  scenes  of  the  past,  resolved  to  amend  it  in  some 
new  sphere  of  action.  He  struggled  hard,  and  suf 
fered  much,  for  some  time,  but,  having  a  contented 
disposition  and  a  good  purpose,  succeeded  in  the 
end ;  and,  from  being  a  farmer's  drudge,  and  a  car 
rier's  lad,  he  is  now  the  merriest  young  grazier  in  all 
Northamptonshire. 

And  now  the  hand  that  traces  these  words  falters, 
as  it  approaches  the  conclusion  of  its  task,  and 
would  weave,  for  a  little  longer  space,  the  thread  of 
these  adventures. 

I  vrould  fain  liuger  yet  with  a  few  of  those  among 
whom  I  have  so  long  moved,  and  share  their  hap 
piness  by  endeavoring  to  depict  it.  I  would  show 
fiose  Maylie  in  all  the  bloom  and  grace  of  early 
womanhood,  shedding  on  her  secluded  path  in  life 
soft  and  gentle  light,  that  fell  on  all  who  trod  it 
with  her,  and  shone  into  their  hearts.  I  would  paiut 
her  the  life  and  joy  of  the  fireside  circle  and  the 
lively  summer  group ;  I  would  follow  her  through 
the  sultry  fields  at  noon,  and  hear  the  low  tones 
of  her  sweet  voice  in  the  moonlit  evening  walk ;  I 
would  watch  her  iu  all  her  goodness  and  charity 
abroad,  and  the  smiling,  untiring  discharge  of  do 
mestic  duties  at  home;  I  would  paint  her  and  her 
dead  sister's  child  happy  in  their  love  for  one  anoth 
er,  and  passing  whole  hours  together  in  picturing 
the  friends  whom  they  had  so  sadly  lost ;  I  would 


summon  before  me,  once  again,  those  joyous  little 
faces  that  clustered  round  her  knee,  and  listen  to 
their  merry  prattle ;  I  would  recall  the  tones  of  that 
clear  laugh,  and  conjure  up  the  sympathizing  tear 
that  glistened  in  the  soft  blue  eye.  These,  and  a 
thousand  looks  and  smiles,  and  turns  of  thought  and 
speech — I  would  fain  recall  them  every  one. 

How  Mr.  Browulow  \veut  on,  from  day  to  day,  fill 
ing  the  mind  of  his  adopted  child  with  stores  of 
knowledge,  and  becoming  attached  to  him  more  and 
more  as  his  nature  developed  itself  and  showed  the 
thriving  seeds  of  all  he  wished  him  to  become — how 
he  traced  in  him  new  traits  of  his  early  friend,  that 
awakened  in  his  own  bosom  old  remembrances,  mel 
ancholy  and  yet  sweet  and  soothing — how  the  two 
orphans,  tried  by  adversity,  remembered  its  lessens 
in  mercy  to  others,  and  mutual  love,  and  fervent 
thanks  to  Him  who  had  protected  and  preserved 
them — these  are  all  matters  which  need  not  to  be 
told.  I  have  said  that  they  were  truly  happy ;  and 
without  strong  aifection  and  humanity  of  heart,  and 
gratitude  to  that  Being  whose  code  is  Mercy,  and 
whose  great  attribute  is  Benevolence  to  all  things 
that  breathe,  happiness  can  never  be  attained. 

Within  the  altar  of  the  old  village  church  there 
stands  a  white  marble  tablet,  which  bears  as  yet 
but  one  word — "  AGNES."  There  is  no  coffin  in  that 
tomb ;  and  may  it  be  many,  many  years,  before  an 
other  name  is  placed  above  it !  But  if  the  spirits  of 
the  Dead  ever  come  back  to  earth  to  visit  spots  hal 
lowed  by  the  love — the  love  beyond  the  grave — of 
those  whom  they  knew  in  life,  I  believe  that  the 
shade  of  Agnes  sometimes  hovers  round  that  solemn 
nook.  I  believe  it  none  the  less  because  that  nook 
is  in  a  church,  and  she  was  weak  and  erring. 


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HANNAH.— OLIVE.— OGII.VIES. — THE  HEAD  OF  THE  FAMILY. 
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LIFE. — Two  MARRIAGES. —  CHRISTIAN'S  MISTAKE. — A 
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WOMAN'S  KINGDOM. 

NAPOLEON'S  LIFE  OF  CAESAR.  The  History  of  Julius  Casar. 
By  His  Imperial  Majesty  NAPOLEON  III.  'Two  Volumes  ready. 
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NEVIUS'S  CHINA.  China  and  the  Chinese :  a  General  Descrip 
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OLIN'S  (DR.)  LIFE  AND  LETTERS.    2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

OLIN'S  (DR.)  TRAVELS.  Travels  in  Egypt,  Arabia  Petraea,  and 
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OLIN'S  (Dis.)  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Stephen  Olin,  D.D.,  late 
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OLIPHANT'S  CHINA  AND  JAPAN.  Narrative  of  the  Earl  of 
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By  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT,  Private  Secretary  to  Lord  Elgin. 
Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

OLIPHANT'S  (MRS.)  LIFE  OF  EDWARD  IRVING.  The  Life 
of  Edward  Irving,  Minister  of  the  National  Scotch  Church, 
London.  Illustrated  by  his  Journals  and  Correspondence. 
By  Mrs.  OI.IPHANT.  Portrait.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

ORTON'S  ANDES  AND  THE  AMAZON.  The  Andes  and  the 
Amazon ;  or,  Across  the  Continent  of  South  America.  By 
JAMES  ORTON,  M.A.,  Professor  of» Natural  History  in  Vassa'r 
College,  Ponghkeepsie,  N.  Y.,  and  Corresponding  Member  of 
the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences,  Philadelphia.  With  a  New 
Map  of  Equatorial  America  and  numerous  Illustrations. 
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PAGE'S  LA  PLATA.  La  Plata,  the  Argentine  Confederation, 
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Tributaries  of  the  River  La  Plata  and  Adjacent.  Countries, 
during  the  Years  1853,  '54,  '55,  and  '56,  under  the  Orders  of 
the  United  States  Government.  New  Edition,  containing 
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POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.  The  Poets  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century.  Selected  and  Edited  by  the  Rev.  ROBERT 
AKIS  WILLMOTT.  With  English  and  American  Additions,  ar 
ranged  by  EVERT  A.  DUYOKINCK,  Editor  of  "Cyclopsedia  of 
American  Literature."  Comprising  Selections  from  the  Great 
est  Authors  of  the  Age.  Superbly  Illustrated  with  141  En 
gravings  from  Designs  by  the  most  Eminent  Artists.  New 
and  Enlarged  Edition.  In  elegant  Square  Svo  form,  printed 
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Harper  6*  Brothers'  Valuable  Standard  Works. 


PALNE'S  PHYSIOLOGY  OP  THE  SOUL  AND  INSTINCT. 
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Materialism.  ^Vith  Supplementary  Demonstrations  of  the 
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PRIME'S  AROUND  THE  WORLD.  Around  the  World:  Sketches 
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RAWLINSON'S  MANUAL  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  A  Man 
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the  Western  Empire.  Comprising  the  History  of  Chaldaea, 
Assyria,  Media,  Babylonia,  Lydia,  Phoenicia,  "Syria,  Judsea, 
Egypt,  Carthage,  Persia,  Greece,  Macedonia,  Parthia,  and 
Rome.  By  GEORGE  RAWLINBON,  M.A.,  Camdeu  Professor  of 
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READE'S  (CHARLES)  NOVELS.  In  Sets,  3  vols.,  Svo,  Morocco 
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HARD  CASII.  Illustrations. — GUIFPITII  GAUNT.  Illustra 
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LITTLE,  LOVE  ME  LONG.— Four.  PLAY. — WHITE  LIES — 
PEG  WOFFINGTON,  and  Other  Tales. — PUT  YOURSELF 
IN  His  PLACE.  Illustrations. — A  TEKRIBLE  TEMPTA 
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RECLUS'S  THE  EARTH.  The  Earth :  a  Descriptive  History  of 
the  Phenomena  of  the  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  ELIBEE  REC'LUS. 
Translated  by  the  late  B.  B.  Woodward,  and  Edited  by  Henry 
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ROBERTSON'S  LIFE  AND  WORKS. 

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on  Steel.  Large  12mo,  83S  pages,  Cloth,  $1  50 ;  Half  Calf,  $3  25. 

ROBINSON'S  GREEK  LEXICON  OF  THE  TESTAMENT.  A 
Greek  and  English  Lexicon  of  the  New  Testament.  By  ED 
WARD  ROBINSON,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  late  Professor  of  Biblical  Liter 
ature  in  the  Union  Theological  Seminary,  New  York.  Royal 
Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

SCOTT'S  FISHING  IN  AMERICAN  WATERS.  Fishing  in 
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SEDGWICK'S  (Miss)  LIFE  AND  LETTERS.  The  Life  and  Let 
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SMILES'S  SELF-HELP.  Self-Help,  with  Illustrations  of  Char 
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SMILES.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

SMILES'S  CHARACTER.  Character.  By  SAMUEL  SMILES.  12mo, 
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Stephenson,  and  of  his  Son,  Robert  Stephensou;  comprising, 
also,  a  History  of  the  Invention  and  Introduction  of  the  Rail 
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SMILES'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS.  The  Huguenots: 
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SHAKSPEARE.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  William  Shakspeare, 
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SPEKE'S  AFRICA.  Journal  of  the  Discovery  of  the  Source  of 
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Indian  Army,  Fellow  and  Gold  Medalist  of  the  Royal  Geo 
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STRICKLAND'S  (Miss)  QUEENS  OF  SCOTLAND.  Lives  of 
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SHERWOOD'S  (Mus.)  WORKS.  Engravings.  16  vols.  12mo, 
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VANITY  FAIR.  32  Illustrations.  — PENDENNIS.  179  Illus 
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NKWOOMEB.  162  Illustrations.— THE  ADVENTURES  or 
PHILIP.  65  Illustrations.— HENRY  ESMOND  and  LOVEL 
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Roundabout  Papers.    Engravings.    12mo,  Cloth.  $1  50. 
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THE  STUDENT'S  SERIES. 

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Hume.    Engravings.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

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Old  Testament  History.    Engravings.    I2mo,  Cloth,  $-2  00. 

New  Testament  History.    Engravings.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Strickland's  Queens  of  England.     Abridged.     Engravings. 

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Ancient  History  of  the  East.  Engravings.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
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THOMSON'S  LAND  AND  THE  BOOK.  The  Land  and  the 
Book ;  or,  Biblical  Illustrations  drawn  from  the  Manners  and 
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W.  M.  THOMSON,  D.D.,  Twenty-five  Years  a  Missionary  of  the 
A.B.C.F.M.  in  Syria  and  Palestine.  With  two  elaborate  Maps 
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Productions  of  the  Holy  Land,  and  the  Costumes,  Manners, 
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TYERMAN'S  WESLEY.  The  Life  and  Times  of  the  Rev.  John 
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TYERMAN,  Author  of  "The  Life  of  Rev.  Samuel  Wesley."  Por 
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VAMBERY'S  CENTRAL  ASIA.  Travels  in  Central  Asia.  Bein™ 
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Desert,  on  the  Eastern  Shore  of  the  Caspian,  to  Khiva, 
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ARMINIUS  VAMUERY,  Member  of  the  Hungarian  Academy  of 
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WALLACE'S  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO.  The  Malay  Archipel 
ago:  the  Land  of  the  Orang-Utan  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise. 
A  Narrative  of  Travel,  1854-1S62.  With  Studies  of  Man  and 
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Fifty-one  Elegant  Illustrations.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

WHYMPER'S  ALASKA.  Travel  and  Adventure  in  the  Territory 
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United  States— and'in  various  other  parts  of  the  North  Pacific. 
By  FREDERICK  WHYMPEE.  With  Map  and  Illustrations.  Crown 
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WHITE'S  MASSACRE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW.  The  Massa 
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WINCHELL'S  SKETCHES  OF  CREATION.  Sketches  of  Crea 
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the  University  of  Michigan,  and  Director  of  the  State  Geo 
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WOOD'S  HOMES  WITHOUT  HANDS.  Home?  Without  Hands : 
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M.A.,  F.L.S.  With  about  140  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  Bev 
eled  Edges,  $4  50. 

WILKINSON'S  ANCIENT  EGYPTIANS.  A  Popular  Account 
of  their  Manners  and  Customs,  condensed  from  his  larger 
Work,  with  some  New  Matter.  Illustrated  with  500  Woodcuts. 
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